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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757915">Down the Waterspout</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingone/pseuds/Mockingone'>Mockingone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Friendship, Gen, RIPeter Lives!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:09:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingone/pseuds/Mockingone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker hightails out of the particle collider with Miles Morales tucked under his arm. </p><p>Or: Spider-Man lives, and the consequences thereafter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Davis &amp; Miles Morales, Jefferson Davis &amp; Miles Morales, Miles Morales &amp; Gwen Stacy, Miles Morales &amp; Peter B. Parker, Miles Morales &amp; Peter B. Parker &amp; Gwen Stacy, Peter B. Parker &amp; RIPeter, RIPeter &amp; Miles Morales, RIPeter Parker &amp; Jefferson Davis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Superheroes and Other Heroes</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. don't stop if the music drops</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Having his face shoved into an interdimensional rainbow beam was not how Peter wanted to end his day. Or start it, since it was technically past midnight. He also didn’t want to be chucked for the second time into the kid who’d somehow wandered onto the battlefield, but Peter had given up on things going how he wanted. And, as proof that the universe hated Spider-Man, the goober then slipped from his hand, falling into the tunnel and shattering into a thousand pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he almost said, but the kid (who apparently had spidey powers?) was watching, and he didn’t want to be a bad influence. Or a worse influence, depending on who was asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the goober gone, there wasn’t really a point in staying here any longer. Peter would be able to take out the machine temporarily, but he’d have to redo the goober to take it out of commission for good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang tight, kid,” said Peter. “I’ll handle this real quick and then we’ll get out of here.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, he felt the energy drain out of him. He was tired. So tired. He hadn’t eaten in two days or slept in four, and the last two months had been a paranoia-fueled nightmare as he came closer to untangling the web of Fisk’s dirty business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was the job, so with a wave that he hoped was comforting, Peter shot a web at the ceiling and pivoted into the Green Goblin’s face. The monstrosity flew into the bulk of the machine, and Peter seemed to do something right for once: the device exploded in a burst of color and heat. The explosion also threw him backwards for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>third </span>
  </em>
  <span>time, and he wasn’t quite as lucky as before. The wall didn’t cushion him as much as break his ribs and probably his arm, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ouch</span>
  </em>
  <span>—there went his leg. That was a sprain, minimum. Probably a fracture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d pushed through worse. Not too much worse, bullets aside, but worse. With a shuddering breath, Peter swung back to the kid and scooped him up, hiding his wince at how the additional weight caused his shattered arm to screech in pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, mister—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not now.” Peter idly filed away Fisk’s ranting as they made their escape, and he doubled his speed when the tell-tale hum of the Prowler’s tech sounded behind him. Great. Now he had to deal with the purple bastard too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quick, cover your face,” he hissed at the kid. “Pull your hoodie tight and don’t look back.” The kid obeyed with wide eyes, yanking the drawstrings until only his nose and pupils were visible. The last thing they needed was for the Prowler to threaten another innocent’s family. If there was one thing the bastard was good at, it was hunting people down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Peter was a pro too. A quick dip into the subway station and a leap into the city skyline was all he needed to lose his tail. He ignored the usual photos and murmurs, taking care to reposition the kid away from the view of cameras. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid’s awed gasp was almost enough to make him smile. New York was beautiful from this height, all glimmering lights and angled buildings. Cars dashed along crowded roads, and snow swirled around them as it settled in a thin blanket over the streets below. Peter would appreciate the sight more if he didn’t have to concentrate on grasping the kid with his broken arm. Or breathing with his cracked ribs. Or any of his other injuries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d gotten far enough, Peter landed carefully in a secluded corner away from any gawking eyes, physical or digital. The alley smelled of trash and paint fumes, both recent, judging by the obscene scrawl above the garbage cans. Ah, New York. He loved his city. He really did. Even this part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, kid.” Peter tried to keep the wheeze from his voice, but since the kid’s eyes grew even bigger, he probably didn’t succeed. Peter shifted his weight to the other foot, but the agony and exhaustion had reached terminal levels. “What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miles—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rule number one, Miles,” he interrupted. “Don’t tell anyone your name. Pick something anonymous like… Web-boy or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hero-worship seemed to fade a bit at that, and Miles shot him a dubious look despite having the majority of his face covered. “Uh, that’s a—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rule number two, Miles. Well, it’s not really a rule. Just a warning.” Gray was crawling into the edge of his vision, and Peter knew he had to finish fast. “I’m about to faint. Please don’t worry about it. Leave me alone for a few hours and I’ll be fine. Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you kept me from hitting my head on the way down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Peter gave up and let himself fall.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles just managed to keep Spider-Man’s head from knocking against the dumpster, but it was a close thing. He eased Spider-Man onto the black trash bags next to the dumpster, arranging the man’s limbs so it looked like he was sitting instead of collapsing into a heap. Miles cringed when he noticed the awkward bend in Spider-Man’s arm. Yeah, arms were </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not supposed to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization hit him a moment later. Had… had Spider-Man carried him across the city with a broken arm? That was hardcore. And terrifying. And Miles couldn’t help but feel guilty that he’d put Spider-Man in that position to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to just leave you with the garbage?” he mumbled out loud, eyeing the unidentified liquid at the bottom of the trash heap. Yeah, that was disgusting. And there was no way he was doing that. Spider-Man or not, his mom would kill him if he left an injured, unconscious person in a sketchy alleyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Spider-Man had probably saved his life, and he wasn’t about to repay that by letting him soak in whatever gunk that was. Miles stepped closer and wondered if it was rude to stare at the hole in the mask revealing part of Spider-Man’s face. He was just a bit curious, with the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>being Spider-Man</span>
  </em>
  <span> bit. Miles wasn’t one of those weirdos who wrote fifteen-thousand word analyses about the hero’s identity, but, you know… he’d wondered. Like everyone else. But that wasn’t important now, not when he had to save Spider-Man. (And wasn’t that just crazy?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Miles tried to pick Spider-Man up without jarring his—</span>
  <em>
    <span>okay, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his leg was definitely broken too. Holy crap, how injured was he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude,” he said out loud. “Seriously.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad had made him do those training things that the police department offered, with the whole what-to-do-if-there’s-a-fire and try-not-to-die-in-an-emergency emphasis. They’d shown him how to do the fireman (firewoman? fireperson?) carry, and Miles hadn’t realized how heavy people could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man… wasn’t heavy at all. Weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the superhero in his arms, Miles hurried in the direction of his home.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kicked the door twice, obviously unable to ring the bell, and waited for what would be the most awkward conversation of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door swung open. His dad, annoyed and tired in a way that promised pain, looked around for a target to focus his glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the idea, making noise at this time—” He stopped and stared, cycling through so many emotions that it gave them both whiplash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles gave a sheepish smile. “Uh. Hi, Dad. I kinda… need your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took a moment for his dad’s ‘get shit done’ mode to kick in. Before Miles knew it, Spider-Man was transferred from his arms onto the pull-out bed in the couch, his mom was putting hot water on the stove, and Miles was bundled into the armchair with blankets (why so many blankets?) piled around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once this was all taken care of, his dad settled into the folding chair with hunched shoulders and hands around the steaming cup of hot chocolate. His eyes didn’t leave Spider-Man’s unconscious body. Miles did his best not to stare uncomfortably at his dad and instead watched as his mom bustled around, taking stock of Spider-Man’s injuries with the calm that only an E.R. nurse could manage. She clucked at obvious breaks in his arm and leg, frowned at the bruising above his ribs, and finally settled back, giant first-aid kit in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to take off his mask,” his mom said with no small amount of reluctance. Her accent thickened, flattening the vowels and sharpening the consonants, as it usually did when she was worried. “I don’t want it to impede his breathing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was bound to happen,” his dad scoffed back, but his shoulders hunched even more. “If he didn’t want to have his identity revealed, he shouldn’t have become a vigilante.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them seemed willing to address that said vigilante was occupying their couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, his mom peeled back Spider-Man’s mask. Miles held his breath, feeling oddly like a creep to watch the unveiling of a secret that all of NYC had guessed at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man looked… normal. He was a white guy with blond hair, a normal nose and mouth, and a nasty bruise that stretched from cheekbone to chin. His eyes were closed, and it was possible that he had weird inverted eyes like Attila the Hun from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mulan</span>
  </em>
  <span>—or maybe they were an impossible color like orange or something—but for some reason, Miles doubted it. Blood stained the collar of his suit, turning the red into a muddy brown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s so young,” murmured his dad. “I forgot that… he started so </span>
  <em>
    <span>young.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Miles’ opinion, he didn’t look </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> young. Mid-twenties, maybe. That was totally an adult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension suddenly dropped, and his mom started treating the injuries like he was any other patient. She splinted his arm, then his leg, and started on the smaller injuries that littered his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dios.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There’s nothing I can do about the ribs. He’ll have to put an icepack on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad took a sip of the hot chocolate and sighed. “I guess we’ll have to wait for him to wake up. In the meantime, though…” He finally looked at Miles. “Son, I think it’s time you tell me what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles hesitated. Yeah, this was definitely more awkward than the first time his dad caught him spray-painting his art on his old school’s wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I snuck out of my room,” he began, and his dad groaned. Before he could start his scolding, his mom cut him off with a sharp phrase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Chiquito,</span>
  </em>
  <span> go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to, uh...” Hunt for the freaky spider that bit him? Yeah, that wasn’t going to go well. “I wanted to try a new art style, and while I was looking for a good spot, I ran into Spider-Man. He was fighting this weird giant lizard creature, and he got hurt trying to save me.” Wait, this wasn’t going so bad. Gaining confidence, Miles picked up the pace. “After he swung us to safety, he fainted. I couldn’t just leave him there, so I… brought him here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No hospital?” his dad said sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think he'd appreciate that.” And his house seemed like the ideal compromise between janky alleyway and hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m just glad you’re safe.” His mom reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, ignoring how the blankets all fell to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hear any reports of a giant lizard creature,” his dad said, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeff!” Her glare made him look away, but he didn’t take back his question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles cringed. “It was in the tunnels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miles! How many times have I told you not to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low moan interrupted his lecture before it could gather steam. All conversations forgotten, the Morales-Davis family fell silent and stared at the slowly awakening man on their couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Em, could you turn the fan on?” he mumbled. “I feel hot…” He rubbed his face with his unbroken arm and froze, eyes snapping open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were a very ordinary blue. Miles felt oddly pleased by being proven right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man groped around his face for the mask and sat up, hissing as he curled around his bruised ribs. (“Don’t push yourself!” scolded his mom, but Spider-Man either didn’t hear or pay attention.) For a guy who looked as normal as normal could be, he had eyes that cut right through you. It reminded Miles of his dad’s ‘down to police business’ look, but he had a feeling that they’d both take that comparison as an insult. Well, maybe not Spider-Man, but definitely his dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Spider-Man,” said his dad in a low, calm voice. It was almost impossible to tell that he actually hated the superhero. Maybe it was harder when you were staring right at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man didn’t answer at first. Instead, he examined his two splints, the neatly patched injuries, and the ice pack at the foot of the bed. Then, his gaze snapped to Miles, settling on him for a moment of slow recognition before dropping down to the mask on the coffee table. Spider-Man yanked it back over his face with obvious relief. Now, only a single blue eye was visible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Officer Davis,” Spider-Man replied finally. The mask seemed to distort his voice just the slightest. If he hadn’t heard Spider-Man speak without it, Miles wouldn’t have noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The calm his dad had disappeared just like that. “Wait, what? You know my name?” His dad looked more surprised than the time he’d found out about Uncle Aaron’s engagement. (Alright, that had lasted for one week, but his dad had been in a state of perpetual shock that whole time.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I try to remember the names of all the good cops in the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad seemed torn about whether to be pleased or angry about the compliment. He settled on neither and gave Spider-Man a neutral stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, Spider-Man either didn’t notice or care, too focused on examining the room around him. He picked up the pieces of his suit and sighed. Miles’ mom had cut it away to get at his injuries, leaving the hero in only boxers and a blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren’t only fresh injuries, Miles noticed. He could see faded green bruises covering Spider-Man’s arms, and pale white scars criss-crossed across his chest, right above a puckered, circular scar that could only come from a bullet. Officer Lee, his dad’s old partner, had the same kind of scar on her left arm from a gang shootout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad had noticed too, and his expression darkened further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your help, Officer Davis,” said Spider-Man. He nodded at Miles’ mom. “Ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man tried to stand up and promptly collapsed again. This time, it was his mom who caught him, all while keeping a steady stream of concern and exasperated scolding in her nurse voice, which was just as scary as his dad’s cop voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not close to well enough—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” his dad said loudly. “Do you want me to arrest you for public exposure as well as vigilantism?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all things, this was what made Spider-Man lose his implacable composure. Spider-Man’s neck turned pink, and Miles was glad that his skin wasn’t light enough to blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I, I’m not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>streaker, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not going to run around naked—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then sit down and cover yourself with that blanket,” he said firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With obvious reluctance, Spider-Man pulled the rubber-duck patterned blanket up to his neck. “Officer, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your help. Or yours, ma’am. I just have important matters to attend to. Really important. The fate of the city could,” he began coughing, interspersed with deep, shuddering breaths that made him shake, “depend on it,” he finished with a wheeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case, tell me what those </span>
  <em>
    <span>important matters</span>
  </em>
  <span> are, and I’ll report to my supervisor.” The usual Spidey-disapproval returned in full force. “Then, the PDNY will handle it. Because it’s our job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man remained silent as he grabbed the ice pack and pressed it against his ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad sighed. “Look, Spider-Man, shouldn’t you be in school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a kid!” he retorted, sounding rather offended. “Do you think I’m in high school or something? I haven’t been a teenager in years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“College, then.” His dad crossed his arms with the now-cold cup of hot chocolate still in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... I’m not in college,” Spider-Man said, sounding entirely unconvincing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe if you were, you’d have some good sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad!” Miles broke the very good policy of not saying anything in the hopes of avoiding his dad’s wrath because, </span>
  <em>
    <span>come on.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You can’t say that to Spider-Man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can say whatever I want!” he snapped back. “He’s a vigilante!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom returned from the kitchen with a fresh cup of hot chocolate. After handing it to Spider-Man with a gentle murmur, she gave her husband a bright smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mi amor?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winced. “Yes, dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t intimidate my patient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While his parents continued their conversation in low tones, Miles looked back at Spider-Man. He was staring at the steaming mug, clearly debating if he should drink it or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should,” he said softly, inching forward. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mi mamá </span>
  </em>
  <span>has the best hot chocolate.” Spider-Man continued to hesitate, so Miles dropped his trump card. “It’s Puerto Rican, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As expected, it worked. Spider-Man pulled his mask up just enough to allow access to his mouth. The first sip was enough to convert him forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” he muttered before downing half the mug. “I’m in love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you.” Miles couldn’t help the smug grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you did.” Spider-Man glanced at Miles’ parents as their conversation grew more heated, and then his blue eye settled on Miles again. “Kid, we need to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles slumped in place. “I know. Look, I’m sorry about bringing you here, but I couldn’t just leave you in a dumpster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Miles.” He didn’t sound very happy, but he didn’t sound upset, either. “But after this is done, we’ll…” he yawned, long and loud enough to cause Miles’ parents to look over, “we’ll talk.” Spider-Man took one more sip before setting the mug on the table. “Just give me a,” he yawned again, “minute, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man closed his eyes without waiting for an answer, and he was asleep in no time at all.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unlike Spider-Man, Miles couldn’t sleep. Neither could his parents, who’d taken their conversation to the bedroom. His old, partially working headphones butchered his current favorite song, but it was better than nothing. His new one was still in his dorm room, which meant that his parents’ argument over what to do with Spider-Man was loud and clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What he’s doing is illegal, Rio!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love, your department’s policy hasn’t been to arrest him in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You know this. It’s not Spider-Man you’re upset about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“... Crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck ….”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He grimaced and changed the song to something louder. The shuddering bass pounded his ears, laced with the tinny sound of broken speakers, and Miles stared at his hands. He’d caused them to stick to the wall. And a pigeon. And Gwanda’s hair. Could it be true? Was he really like Spider-Man?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles practically jumped out of his skin. Spider-Man seemed just as spooked, looking around wildly as he searched for something. Miles craned his neck and looked around with him. Was there danger? Did those freaky criminals find them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid? Where’d you…” He blinked and finally looked at Miles. “Well. That’s new. Did you know you could turn invisible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Miles looked back at his hands, which were just as solid as before. “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never mind. Could you grab me something to wear? I should really get out of here, and I don’t want to wear this blanket like a toga.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles went over to the pantry, which — besides having the first-aid kit, his art supplies, and actual food — had his parents’ change of clothes. Since both of them worked long, irregular shifts, they kept spare uniforms and pajamas on the shelves to avoid waking the other up while rummaging through the bedroom. After a moment of hesitation (there was no way either Spider-Man or his dad would be okay with him wearing a police uniform), he grabbed his dad’s old hoodie and striped pajama pants and handed them over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nod, Spider-Man pulled on the clothes. They were hilariously loose on him, which was fine for the hoodie, but the pants were a bigger problem. Miles doubted that Spider-Man wanted to flash his boxers to half of New York while swinging from building to building. Thankfully, the pants had a drawstring, and after pulling them to their maximum length and tying them in a triple knot, Spider-Man was satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be seeing you, kid.” After grabbing a phone from the shredded suit—Wait, the suit had pockets? And was that a flip phone? What was this, 2004?—and bundling the remains into his unbroken arm, Spider-Man limped to the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you think you’re going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man froze, both hands on the windowsill. All six-something feet of Miles’ dad loomed over them both with the full force of his criminal-catching justice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Officer,” the hero said, slowly, quietly, with a tinge of desperation that bled through his composure, “I have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only place you should be going is the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man shook his head, otherwise frozen in place by the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad didn’t move either. He was watching Spider-Man, but he didn’t seem to be seeing him. It was the same expression that his dad had during the rare moments that he and Uncle Aaron were in the room together, the same expression that he had when Miles was caught with spray paint or his sketchbook instead of math homework. It was heavy, full of history that Miles still didn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t see anything,” his dad said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man, drowning in the clothing that wasn’t his, sagged with relief. “Thank you.” He pushed open the window with one hand and stepped out with his good foot, somehow swinging his broken leg over in a way that avoided putting pressure on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spider-Man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man tensed again. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad let his arms hang down by his sides. “Thank you for saving my son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man paused. “Of course,” he said, almost baffled, as if he couldn’t comprehend why someone wouldn’t do the same, as if being thanked was something unexpected and undeserved. After adjusting something around his wrists, Spider-Man slipped through the window and was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father and son stood together, a superhero-shaped silence stretching between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was Spider-Man,” said Miles, the realization of what just happened hitting him like that lizard monstrosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” His dad stared out the window as the sun began to break over the horizon. “Yeah, that was.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is my love letter to 'Into the Spider-Verse,' one of my favorite movies in recent memory (or ever, honestly). I started writing it last year, and I finished all of it a few weeks ago. After a few rounds of editing, and ta-da! Here it is in its completed glory. I'll be posting every Tuesday until all nine chapters are here for your viewing pleasure. </p><p>Much thanks to GwendolynStacy, Igornerd, Iaso, JustAnotherOutcast, and fishebake for beta-reading this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ain't I seen you before?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter’s healing ability was great. It had saved his ass more times than he could count, and it made a painful job… well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span> painful, but marginally less inconvenient. It still wasn’t good enough to fix compound fractures in a couple hours. A week? Sure. But that was still a week of downtime he couldn’t afford.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His right arm was beginning to ache with the effort of supporting his entire body. Normally he alternated, but that wasn’t really a choice with his arm tightly splinted by Officer Davis’s wife. And wasn’t that weird, waking up in a police officer’s home? A police officer who fell more on the ‘he’s a menace’ side of the spectrum. A police officer who, as far as Peter could tell, was not in the pocket of Fisk, which was why Peter had stayed so long to begin with. (An officer who also knew Peter’s face, but that was a crisis for another day.) And, well, considering that the new spider-mutant was that officer’s son… poor Miles was going to have more trouble than he did, back when Aunt Bennie and Aunt May hadn’t known about the gig. It reminded him of—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, just for a brief moment. The hoodie was warm, but the cold wind still cut through the fabric. Peter hadn’t thought of Gwen in a long time. Miles reminded him of her, with both the police dad and city-wide stubborn streak. Peter found it difficult to believe he’d failed her only five years ago. It felt both longer and shorter than it should be. A lot could happen in five years: meeting Mary Jane, getting engaged, getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>… and a lot could stay the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter took a deep breath, and his ribs jabbed into his lungs. He’d expected that, but the earth-shaking coughs that came after were what threw him off balance. And, when he was six-hundred feet in the air, </span>
  <em>
    <span>off-balance</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the opposite of what he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a bit of quick thinking, frantic windmilling, and a series of hastily-shot webs, Peter managed to land on a flat rooftop with minimal injuries. Sure, his left leg felt like someone had smacked it with a hammer, his right arm was practically wrenched out of his socket, and his ribs were probably puncturing his internal organs, but that was all in a morning's work. He let his head thump against the floor and stared at the pink sky. He was fine. This was fine. This was totally fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His spider-sense went off, proving that it was not actually fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat up, fighting the urge to groan as his ribs disagreed. For some reason, his spider-sense lacked the urgency he expected, almost as if…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that was a brilliant landing. If this was the Olympics, you wouldn’t even qualify.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stood up, and his spider-sense </span>
  <em>
    <span>sang. </span>
  </em>
  <span>(Like you, like you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>like you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in sweatpants, hands in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world, was a man who looked like the definition of a bad joke. Dark hair, stubble, a crooked nose and an equally crooked smile. Wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, a bit of a gut, and a dirty, tattered jacket that belonged in a dumpster. And, a Spider-Man suit visible under everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter superimposed the man’s face over the one he saw everyday in the mirror. He couldn’t help but stare at the differences, yet… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-him</span>
  </em>
  <span> gave a critical look. “I could say the same thing. What in the world are you wearing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe he didn’t look much better with a holey </span>
  <em>
    <span>Police Academy</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweatshirt and blue-and-green pajama pants that flapped in the wind. But still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s literally the least important thing right now,” he said flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The not-him made a noise that could only be described as downright infuriating. “Is it, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really is</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Peter shook his not-broken wrist and aimed the web-nozzle at the stranger. “Start talking, or you’ll find yourself working as this building’s new lightning rod.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man snorted, slouching even further while scratching his stubble, displaying a web-shooter that looked shockingly similar to the one on his own wrist. “Look, you might be younger, blue-eyed, marginally more in shape—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marginally?” Peter scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and with a home field advantage, but I’m pretty sure I could take you. Actually, I’m pretty sure that a mild breeze could take you.” The man tapped his own left leg. “When did that happen? Last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter tried to shift his weight back onto his left leg and winced, moving his foot to the right and pretending that it was his intention the whole time to shuffle around like a square dancer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, it’s too late to hide it now. That’s an amateur mistake. How long have you been doing this? A year?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten,” he said mulishly. “But I’ve had a shitty couple of days, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could tell by the gaping hole in your mask.” The man shrugged. “Hey, it happens. We all have those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Thanks. Now could you please tell me who the hell you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at him for a long moment. “My name’s Peter B. Parker. I’m Spider-Man. Best that I can tell, I’m from an alternate universe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way,” said Peter, all the while thinking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit, yes way.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It only made sense, considering that Fisk was creating a device to tear open the multiverse. "How do I know you're not a clone or something?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, did that happen to you already?” Imposter-Peter seemed just a tad surprised. “Man, that was freaky, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it.” Peter couldn’t help but be drawn into commiserating. “Seeing all those suddenly-not-dead-but-actually-still-dead people walking around gave me zombie nightmares.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, absolutely,” agreed Not-Peter. “But I’m also pretty sure that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I’m not a clone. And, considering that you’re probably the resident Spider-Man of this ‘verse, I think you know exactly why I’m here. Isn’t that right, also-Peter-Parker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter slumped as the minuscule energy he’d gained from the forcible power-nap faded away. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” He leaned against the half-wall bordering the roof, no longer attempting to project confidence. Peter wanted to give in to the paranoia that had been his constant companion for the last two years and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwip</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of there, but his spider-sense insisted otherwise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like you, like you, like you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Trust him.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” he said reluctantly, right as Other-Peter began to look fidgety. “I’ll tell you the rest at Aunt May’s.” He pretended not to notice how Other-Peter stiffened. And then he stopped pretending when Other-Peter suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>phased </span>
  </em>
  <span>into lines and angles like someone had pressed a magnet against a computer screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are… you okay?” Peter said, crouching down to check on Other-Peter but also realizing that his broken leg didn't appreciate that at all. If he’d still had any suspicions about the clone bit, they were all gone now. Clones didn’t dissolve into colors that he’d only ever seen in the particle accelerator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m fine,” groaned Other-Peter. “My atoms just hate me for being sucked into another universe. No biggie.” He slowly stood up, brushing dirt off his already grimy sweatpants. “Come on. Let’s get to Aunt May’s house before I glitch in midair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan.” For the first time in his life, Peter swung off the building—and another Spider-Man followed.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles’ dad had given him the option to stay home, but he really didn't want to listen to another five-hour lecture. So, Miles went back to school the next day. That didn’t mean he was happy about it. Or that he wasn’t about to keel over from exhaustion. The only thing that kept him awake was thoughts of Spider-Man. Was he alright? How was Spider-Man going to find him? When Spider-Man found him, was he going to teach him how to use his new powers? Would Spider-Man let him swing from buildings?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed to make his way through math, English, and history, but physics was going to be an issue. If the teacher played another video in a dimly lit room, there was no </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was going to stay awake. Miles slid into his seat just as the teacher left the room, ordering them to answer the question on the whiteboard while she took this phone call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like crap,” said the cool, amused voice of Gwanda.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well I feel like—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain </span>
  <em>
    <span>buzzed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and his thoughts grew loud-loud-loud in the way they had during the second most embarrassing day of his life. (Second, because his dad lecturing Spider-Man would always take the cake.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwanda stared back, mouth dropping in of pure shock. “You’re like me,” she said, but unlike her expression, she didn’t sound surprised. More like… triumphant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am? You are?” Miles was sweating again, and he tugged at his tight collar, suddenly feeling like the air was too thin. Was this actually happening?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on. Let’s go to the roof.” Before he could object, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the back door, jiggling the lock and stepping out, leaving the teacher none the wiser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. It looked like this was really happening.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles carefully placed his feet off the edge, stiff and hunched compared to the casual way that Gwanda lounged against the ledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When’d you get your powers, Miles?” She smiled at him, and Miles couldn’t help but appreciate the way her new (unintentional) haircut framed her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, uh,” he began, trying very hard not to be an awkward dolt, “three… days ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No wonder. I freaked out for a week straight after my first, er, incident.” Gwanda glanced away as she reminisced. “Let me tell you, getting your drumsticks stuck to your hands before the big drum solo is not pleasant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I bet.” His powers had honestly been a series of embarrassments, now that he thought about it. “How long’ve you had your powers, Gwanda?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted and then coughed in an attempt to cover it up. It didn’t work, but Miles thought it was kind of cute. “My name’s not Gwanda. It’s Gwen.” She gave him another smile. “I’ve had mine for two years. I’ve been Spider-Woman for about as long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles was about to nod and say something along the lines of ‘Oh, that’s nice’ when his brain caught up with his ears. “Wait, Spider-Woman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. Your universe has a Spider-</span>
  <em>
    <span>Man</span>
  </em>
  <span>, doesn’t it? And you’re not him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For someone who was dropping a multi-universal bomb on him, she was pretty calm. Miles, on the other hand, was blinking rapidly as his brain tried to process the </span>
  <em>
    <span>really weird </span>
  </em>
  <span>information for the second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you say </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> universe? Are you saying that you’re from a different one? You’re not playing a physics-class based prank, are you? Because that sounds really lame. I mean, really cool if it’s real, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No-longer-Gwanda-but-actually-Gwen took a step off the ledge. Instead of falling to her death, she continued walking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sideways.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Just like him. Just like Spider-Man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that convince you?” Her grin was just a little smug as she hopped back onto the ledge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, a little bit?” He stared at her. “Could you teach me how to do that? I mean, Spider-Man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>universe’s Spider-Man, said that he’d teach me, but I’m not sure when he’s gonna show up or anything. So, in the meantime…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced away, suddenly uncomfortable. “I guess I could show you a few tricks.” Gwen cleared her throat and gave him a curious look that didn’t hide her blatant subject change. “You’ve met Spider-Man? Who is he? What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’ve seen his face, but I don’t actually know who he is. He didn’t really introduce himself, you know? And it feels kinda wrong to tell you that,” he mumbled. Miles perked up. “Wait, I can show you! I recorded it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled up the video he’d taken of the freaky machine thing. Gwen leaned in and watched Spider-Man fly around and smack the lizard-thing in the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” She nodded as Spider-Man did a particularly twisty flip. “I can’t pull that off yet. You’d need to be super careful with the release, and if you don’t time the next web right, you’d probably break your neck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crazy, right?” Miles then realized that the ‘you’ wasn’t really hypothetical anymore. She was so casual about the gravity defying stunts because </span>
  <em>
    <span>she could probably do it too, </span>
  </em>
  <span>being a Spider-Person. And maybe he could too. Eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen soon became more interested in the villainous monologue that came right after the impressive battle. “Alchemax,” she said. “I knew it! I guess they’re evil in every dimension. I saw those same colors when that portal dragged me here. The collider probably caused this mess to begin with.” She stood up and stretched like a ballerina, touching her toes with her fingers and then her fingers with her toes. After jumping lightly in place, Gwen stepped to the edge again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To Alchemax. I need to gather information on how to get home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I come?” he blurted out. It was a really stupid idea on multiple levels; his dad would kill him if he found out about skipping school, he had no idea how to use his powers, and he was about to follow a girl he’d just met to break into a top-secret facility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still. There was something about Gwen that made him </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>he had to help. Something in his head, a sense of needing to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Miles. It’s not that I don’t like you or anything, it’s just… I work alone. And you don’t have a lot of experience with—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>shifted</span>
  </em>
  <span> into green and yellow and a hundred different colors, blurring in and out like a computer glitch. She yelped in pain and almost fell off the roof, catching herself just in time and stumbling forward onto solid ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” he asked, stretching out a hand. “Also, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think traveling between universes agrees with me,” she said weakly, standing up by herself and brushing the dirt from her uniform. After giving him another critical look, Gwen sighed. “Alright. It’d be a problem if that happens when I’m at Alchemax’s headquarters. Do you have a suit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No…” Miles tried very, very hard not to let his excitement show. He didn’t think he was doing a very good job, judging by the way Gwen coughed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get you one. Then, we’ll infiltrate Alchemax and stop their plan for good.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Other-Peter hadn’t even blinked at threats, but standing in front of Aunt May’s house made him into a nervous wreck. Sure, to any outsider he’d look fine, but Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter. He recognized all the tells of the brunette version.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe she’s not home,” mumbled Other-Peter, rubbing his thumb against the web-shooter. “Why don’t we get a burger or something and talk about it then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been three seconds since we rang the doorbell,” Peter said, exasperated. He was basically standing on one foot at this point — there was no way his left leg wasn’t fractured in at least three different places. Just as Peter was about to give up and sit down, the door opened, revealing his frazzled aunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter,” said Aunt May, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him for a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re alright.” She glanced at his broken limbs, bandages and clothing. “Relatively alright, that is. After that earthquake, I…” Her eyes slid to the man standing next to him. “Peter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Aunt May.” Other-Peter was smiling, but his eyes tightened, as if he were seeing a ghost and he couldn’t quite believe it. As if she’d disappear if he touched her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Peter,” she said gently. “Aren’t you going to give your Aunt May a hug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stared at his aunt. Sure, Other-Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Peter, but since when did she go around offering hugs to lookalikes? Wasn’t this a little sudden?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other-Peter didn’t seem to think so. Instead, he leaned into her hug like it was the only thing left in the entire world. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His aunt continued to smile while rubbing his back in small circles like she always did when he was upset. Personally, Peter thought that Other-Peter’s jacket was filthy and not at all deserving of being touched by Aunt May. He also tried really hard not to think about why Other-Peter would react like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other-Peter cleared his throat and straightened, tucking his hands back in his jacket pockets like he hadn’t just been emotionally vulnerable for a solid five minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Peter pulled off his mask and shut the door. “I have a crazy story to tell you, Aunt May.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save it till we get to the shed,” she said. “I have a feeling that my day was almost as crazy as yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt that.” He grinned back, faltering just a little when he noticed Other-Peter’s blatant disapproval. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>blond?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Other-Peter shook his head. “The blue eyes were weird enough, but blond? Did you dye it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” Peter blinked. “I’ve… always been blond? And you’re focusing on </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Since when were you so obsessed with minor details?” He squinted, taking note of the gray hair in his counterpart that was way more prominent in the indoor lighting. “How old are you, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old-Other-Peter rubbed his face, bringing attention to the fact that he really needed to shave. “Who’s the one focusing on irrelevant details again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, actually, I think your age is pretty relevant. We can figure out how displaced you are by comparing the differences.” He gave his counterpart a bright smile. “So, how old are you, and what year is it over there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys, boys, I mean it. Save it until we get to the shed. You won’t want to explain it twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, twice?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Personally, Peter thought that Other-Peter focused on the strangest things. He’d managed the rest of his transdimensional displacement with grim amusement, but he somehow found the Spider-Shed to be completely unfathomable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How—How do you have a lair? Is that a cape?" He whipped his head around, staring at the multiple suits as they descended to the lower floor. “How did you afford all this? Did you mooch off Mary Jane's royalties?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, but he's mooching off mine," said Aunt May with amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other-Peter through his hands up in the air. “Oh, come on, you can’t be draining Aunt May’s retirement savings! That’s just irresponsible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt May laughed softly (causing Other-Peter to contort his face in interesting ways). “Peter, this isn’t even a drop in my savings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked, surprised out of his emotional introspection. “What? Aunt May, are you… rich?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, of course. My patents pull enough money to keep me comfortable for a long time. Even with the expense of your counterpart's extracurricular activities." She raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm guessing your Aunt May isn't as supportive?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other-Peter's increasingly stunned expression gave Peter the tiniest bit of joy. "No, she was supportive but... she was a nurse." He gave a weak smile. "Not as much room in the budget."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little amusement Peter had disappeared at the past tense. Aunt May noticed it too, but she continued forward without commenting on it. "There was a time when I thought about being one," she mused as they stepped off the platform, "but I switched to engineering in college."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was used to Aunt May taking things in stride, being the aunt of Spider-Man and all, but this </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a little extreme. They hadn't even explained anything yet! "Aunt May, did you really just guess that the other Peter's from an alternate universe?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, I had some friends help out with that." She laughed again. "I won’t lie, Peter, when Peni showed up, I was wondering if there was something you needed to tell me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Peni?" mouthed Other-Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter's Spider-Sense went off once, twice, and thrice, and then three people stepped out from the shadows.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a pig version of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had to be a fever dream. Maybe he was still on Officer Davis's couch and hallucinating, or the police officer had taken him to the hospital, leaving him conked out on the pain meds of their choice. (Ignoring, of course, that his spidey-metabolism burned through medicine like tinder.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I shouldn't tempt fate by asking how much weirder this could get," mumbled Old-Other-Peter. "Before we get completely confused in our heads—I'm already way past that point—we have to figure out names for the three of us. I'll be Peter—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>get to be Peter?" interrupted Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because I'm the oldest?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But this is my dimension. I'm the Peter who's supposed to be here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I’m also Peter," said the husky, black-and-white (how was that even possible?) Spider-Man from the Great Depression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, I'm Peter, you're—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm Peter," Peter interrupted again</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm Peter too!" said the pig. "Peter Porker."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Which makes you Porker."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two in-color Peters glared at each other while the third stood awkwardly to the side, his coat fluttering in the nonexistent wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad my dad named me Peni instead of Peter the Second," mumbled the kid by her robot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Peter was not going to have an existential crisis about apparently having a child in an alternate future dimension. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He'd just gotten married; this was no time to be thinking about children.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old-Peter rolled his eyes. “Well, Blondie—” He groaned and doubled over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at once, the other Spider-People glitched into scattered colors and light, dropping in and out of existence. With grumbles of pain, all four picked themselves off the floor as Peter stared with growing apprehension. Old-Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> said that his atoms weren’t happy with him… it didn’t look like a momentary thing, a small buffer before their matter settled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can pick names later, alright?” said Aunt May, exasperated, and they knew her word was final. “I think we have more important work to get done first.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, y'all! I really appreciate your comments and feedback. Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. Of course, thanks to my great beta-readers: GwendolynStacy, JustAnotherOutcast, Iaso, fishbake, and Igornerd.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. they want us all gone eventually</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Miles thought that Gwen, despite her insistence on working alone, was actually a great teacher. Before they went off to Alchemax, she let him use one of her web slingers to swing around the city. They started with the shorter brownstone buildings in Brooklyn before making their way to the taller ones towards the center of the city. It was way cooler than going to class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get a feel with practice about when to release the web,” she advised. “The amount of momentum depends on where you are in the arc.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. Physics.” For fun, he released the web at the very height of the arc, enjoying the moment of weightlessness before shooting another web and swinging forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, physics.” Gwen sounded like she was smiling, even though Miles couldn’t actually see it. “Also, listen to your spider-sense when swinging. It takes time to really get what it’s saying, but you’ll hear when to let go.” She shrugged in midair with her foot outstretched in an aerial split. “And relax a little bit. The spider venom boosted our strength and durability. I fell from way higher without any problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, feeling a boost of awe. Gwen was probably the coolest person he’d ever met. She had </span>
  <em>
    <span>superpowers</span>
  </em>
  <span> and she knew how to use them and she was mysteriously aloof and had the best costume. Spider-Man’s red and blue was nice, but Gwen’s ghost color scheme with bright highlights was something else. (And he dug the hood.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His own mask flapped against his face in the wind, being a cheap knockoff that he bought from the corner store. The Spider-Man: Christmas Edition costume had been on sale, so his was green, red, and polyester. Which was not even close to as cool as the OG or Gwen’s. Still, it was better than having a picture of his face posted on Twitter for the world to see—and for his dad to yell about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s stop at that building with the ugly billboard,” Gwen called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles swung from the lamppost, grinning at the stares and view, before landing shakily on the brownstone building. Gwen flipped and landed beside him in a smooth, steady crouch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is so awesome!” said Miles. “This is so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> cool.” He smiled at her and then remembered she couldn’t see with the mask, so he pulled it up and smiled again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen didn’t do the same. Instead, she glanced away, and when she spoke, her voice sounded different. Almost thick. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Alright, I think we’ve got enough practice in. We’ll sneak into Alchemax next, and you have to promise to follow my lead, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice did that thing when someone was trying not to laugh, and Miles grinned again at his success. “In that case, soldier, let’s move out.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peni had all the technological Parker genius times </span>
  <em>
    <span>ten.</span>
  </em>
  <span> After Peter explained the situation with Alchemax, she wasted no time in grabbing his spare USBs, creating a nearly indestructible version from the cannibalized parts, and reprogramming the shut-off with a code that would send everyone home first. May, who had helped him with the web-shooters to begin with, followed Peni’s cheerful explanation much better than he did. But Peter still knew enough to be impressed, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she was done, Peter shutdown his ultra-secure computer that contained the bulk of evidence from all his investigations. It had a randomly generated password that changed every week </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> a fingerprint access system. He was even considering adding voice recognition, but that seemed like overkill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A fancy filing cabinet,” said Noir. “I like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere along the line, they’d decided on names. Mr. Hardboiled Detective Peter had been called Noir as a dumb joke — but Noir hadn’t taken it as a joke at all. (“French for </span>
  <em>
    <span>darkness?”</span>
  </em>
  <span>  he’d mused. “It describes my soul.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter, to his disgruntlement, had become </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blondie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and all the other Spider-People had unanimously agreed on it. On the other hand, they’d agonized over what to call Old Peter. He was the only one with a middle name, so ‘Benjamin’ was always an option. The first time Noir had tried it out, he’d winced and was suddenly unable to look at the eldest Spider-Man, so that had been dropped. Then it came out that Old Peter B. had finished his Ph.D., meaning that he technically was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Peter B.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(“Does that make you the Doc Park to the Doc Ock?” Porker had joked, and everyone had groaned.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the name had still stuck, and none of them remained Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems a little overcomplicated,” said Doc, rubbing his stubble again. “What happens if you forget the password? Or you can’t access it but someone else needs the information on there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t forget,” said Peter confidently from his perch in the rolly chair. “And I’m the only one who can and should access it. It’s too much of a risk otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc simply looked away, troubled. Then he glitched again, cutting that conversation thread short. Peter rolled to him and offered a hand, but Doc refused it and stood bent over, hands on his knees, getting his ragged breath under control. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s getting more frequent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence from the other spider-people brooked no disagreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Peter looked down at his hands and tucked them in the pockets of his borrowed pajama pants. “We can head to the collider tonight. I’ll plug the goober in and shut it down after you all go through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight?” Doc gave a low, bitter laugh. “You can’t even stand!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stood up from the chair, gripping the armrest so tightly with his good hand that his knuckles turned white. “I’m fine</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you’re still </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretending</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Doc shook his head. “I’ll do it instead of you. If you try to take on Fisk like that, you’ll die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blondie,” Noir tugged his hat downwards, “your resolve is admirable—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter threw his arms up in the air and deliberately did not wince at how his broken bone jabbed into muscle. “The alternative is one of you dying!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That exertion was enough to wind him as his ribs protested. Peter’s short breaths were the only sound heard as the others watched him prove their point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t push yourself,” said Peni finally, quiet and pale as she looked at him and saw someone else. “We don’t want you to die either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter closed his eyes. “Tomorrow night, then. I’ll be better, and we shouldn’t wait for much longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc muttered something and turned away. The hollow feeling that rose in Peter’s chest was proof that he won.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles hitchhiked with Gwen to Alchemax, and it was the coolest version of hitchhiking that he’d ever done. Not that he usually hitchhiked—he’d never hitchhiked before—but it was definitely cooler than any other version, and there was no worry about serial killers either. They’d swung on top of a storage truck and spent the time going over the game plan. Gwen responded with short answers to half-a-dozen of his conversation starters, almost determined to remain silent, until he finally hit the right one: music. To his delight, Miles found out that Gwen could be kinda chatty when she talked about her band.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re the Mary Janes, which is a pretty basic name, but MJ’s the one who holds the band together, so she deserves to have the title.” Gwen swung her leg lightly against the truck’s side as she went into more detail about their stylistic decisions and their signature syncopated beat and a dozen other things Miles didn’t quite understand but was just as happy to listen to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I honestly love tossing the minor third chord into progressions. If MJ let me I’d—” She stiffened and grabbed Miles’ shoulder. “Quick, follow me to the other truck!” With a graceful leap, she hopped onto the larger truck that merged into the lane next to them. Miles followed her, banging his knee against the edge, and crawled into the propped open back of the truck with the driver none the wiser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” mumbled MIles, rubbing his knee. The inside of the truck was musty and filled with stacks of brown boxes, all marked with large FRAGILE tags and the logo of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alchemax</span>
  </em>
  <span> stamped on the top. This would probably be their last switch, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” She tapped her fingers against her arm in a drumbeat pattern and cleared her throat. Then Gwen </span>
  <em>
    <span>glitched</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a brief flicker of color and lines, and tried to play it off. “So, do you remember the plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Gwen crossed her arms. “So, the plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles eyed her as if she’d immediately fade away into another dimension. After a second, reassured that it wouldn’t happen just yet, he answered her question. “You said, uh…. put on the labcoats once we pull into the parking lot and pretend to be interns. Then let you do the talking and follow you around the facility until we find the information.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget it.” Gwen shrugged on the button-down shirt and skirt over her suit. “If we stick to it, it'll be an in-and-out job. Nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They did not stick to the plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It started when Gwen shoved Miles into a supply closet when she noticed Fisk walking down the other hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay in here,” she hissed, accidentally jabbing him with the clipboard in her hands. “Don’t move until I come get you!” With that, she shut the door, leaving him with an odd-smelling mop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles sighed. This was not how he’d expected his first superhero mission to go. He glanced around, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness—which they did surprisingly fast—and noticed that there was also a bucket filled with… claws and hooks? Whose supply closet was this, a pirate’s?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smooth voice outside his room distracted him from his investigations. The door muffled it, but he could make out most of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... which after tonight’s cooldown, we can try again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded familiar. It sounded like—</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It sounded like the lady from that three-part documentary in physics class. Dr. Olive Octagon? Something like that. Miles scooched closer and pressed his ear against the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m guessing at least three anomalies, though the amount of space-time distortion suggests that it could be higher. All the devices are going haywire, so the calibration has to be redone from scratch. Can you handle that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tiny response of a phone conversation was barely understandable. “... </span>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow morning.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be perfect,” said the maybe-Dr. Octagon. “If you get it done by then, we can do round two tomorrow night.” A pause, and a response that Miles couldn’t hear. “Alright. Wonderful. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The footsteps grew faint, and Miles held his breath until he couldn’t hear them anymore. Then, after pulling on his mask, he cracked open the door, checked to see if anyone was there, and stepped out. The coast was clear, so he headed into the room directly next to the closet. On the desk was a small, overturned name plate. He flipped it and read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Olivia Octavius. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles fished the tiny USB from his jacket pocket, plugged it in, and began copying files from the computer haphazardly. Dr. Octavius had the most disorganized desktop he’d seen, but she was also the head of Alchemax. There had to be something on here that would help Gwen. Footsteps sounded again, and he dove under the desk. She was back already?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, where did I put that…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One second Miles was under the desk, and the next moment that desk was flung against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do we have here?” Dr. Octavius smiled at him as her </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird extra back arm attachments</span>
  </em>
  <span> (what!?) grabbed him by the shoulders and held him in the air. “Another spider! Just as my hypothesis predicted. Now, be a dear for me and let me run some tests, alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was how Miles found himself tied to a surprisingly comfortable office chair while the crazy doctor lady reached for his face. He cringed away, expecting a needle, only to have his tongue jabbed by a q-tip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it?” he blurted out, hating himself immediately for saying it out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can pick something more invasive if you want,” she said cheerfully. Dr. Octavius was already absorbed in staring at his cells under a microscope. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. You clearly have the advanced metabolism from the spider-bite, just like this universe’s Spider-Man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles frowned as he tried to discreetly free himself from the tight cords. “Wait, how do you know what his cells look like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waved his question aside with her hand (still holding the q-tip). “Oh, Spider-Man leaves his genetic material everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his tied position, Miles physically cringed and pulled a face. “Lady, that’s creepy on so many levels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gasped, and for a moment Miles wondered if he’d offended her. “Your molecular makeup is completely stable! An unmitigated success!” She punched the air with three arms and crowed. “Perfect, perfect! I’ll let the boss know. He’ll be so pleased.” Dr. Octavius glanced back at him and beamed. “And in the meantime, you get to be my little test subject.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the metal claw, she reached out to touch his face. If Miles was panicked before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. The second the claw made contact, he felt a surge of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Dr. Octavius shuddered as if she’d been shocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, wait, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> being electrocuted, and she crumpled to the floor, twitching as arcs of blue static traveled from one metal arm to the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the heck?” Miles blinked, decided not to test his luck, and doubled his efforts at undoing his chains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His luck held, and the door burst open to reveal Gwen, fully decked out in her spider-suit. “Miles! Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just a little tied up.” He wiggled in place to emphasize his point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted at his pun and shook her head. “This is why I work alone,” she said as she untied him, but her words had more than a little relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now free, Miles tugged down his mask over his mouth and stretched. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Octavius groaned, and her back-arms began to stir.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen blinked at the supervillain scientist on the floor. “Is that Doc Ock? </span>
  <em>
    <span>That's </span>
  </em>
  <span>Doc Ock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so. I think I accidentally shocked her with my spider powers,” he said nonchalantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she stared at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You have electric spider powers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don't?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc Ock's artificial arms propped her up. “You brat—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen shot a web at the desk, flung it into the supervillain, and blasted her with an extra pile of webs to keep her glued to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take that!” Miles stuck out his hand out for a fistbump of awesomeness appreciation. “That was the smoothest takedown I've ever seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen hesitated for a long moment before giving in and tapping his fist with her own. She gritted her teeth as she partially glitched, her hand phasing right through his. “Have you seen a lot of takedowns?” she said dryly, pretending again like that hadn’t happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I used to be obsessed with wrestling?” he offered, trying to hide his worry and play along. That was seriously freaky, and it looked kind of painful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sort of worked. Gwen exhaled in an almost-laugh, just as someone shouted, “Check over there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right after, Doc Ock groaned, and the desk above her began to shudder and splinter with the force of her mechanical arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go.” Gwen grabbed him, prepared to do just that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, her computer! She probably has important stuff on there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen webbed the computer tower, yanked it towards her, and tucked it under one arm. Then, the two of them hightailed it out of there.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter B. Parker had mixed feelings about being tossed into another dimension against his will. On one hand, he’d been tossed into another dimension against his will. On the other hand, he’d gotten to see a version of Aunt May again. As amazing as that was, it was also just as painful. He was used to his failures returning to bite him in the butt (sometimes literally), but he was less used to them staring him in the face with a gentle smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, this Aunt May didn't need him. She was happy and rich, and she had her flawless, shiny Peter Parker who wasn't a failure, who was still obsessed with perfection and justice and all the ideals with an intensity that would burn him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, Peter knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Blondie passed out on the couch for some much needed rest, Peter was left in the same room with Aunt May. And though his heart wanted to see her smile and hear her gentle laughter and relax into her warm hugs… his heart also couldn't take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he announced, “I'm going to grab some burgers. It’d be mean to make you cook for all of us.” Especially since spider-venom powers meant that their metabolism was off the charts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, Peter, it’d be no trouble at all,” said Aunt May. Unlike the rest of them, she didn't use any nicknames. Everyone was Peter to her—minus Peni, for obvious reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peni perked up at the mention of burgers. “I could go for some fries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Noir, absorbed in a coloring book, looked up, as did Porker. It seemed that a love for fast food was also a spider-person thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt May sighed, knowing that it was a losing battle. “Get out of here, then.” She winked and smiled at him, and Peter tried harder than he had in the last two years to keep it together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After getting everyone's order, Peter gave a backwards wave, zipped up his jacket, and headed out.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was that time of evening when everything was a blue-gray and the city was deciding whether to turn on the lights. Peter had his mask on as he craned his neck around, taking in a New York that wasn't his. That building had been torn down three years ago, and they'd never had </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>ugly purple monstrosity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter twisted to the left, cracking his back to ease the ache as he kicked off a spire. He didn't even falter. At this point, web-slinging was intuitive, more so than walking. He descended into the lower levels, conserving every movement. He couldn't be flashy at this age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he was about to turn left and check out that one diner—this </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the past, kinda, and maybe it hadn't closed—Peter heard the tell-tale sound of breaking glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. This wasn't his New York.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He was still Peter B. Parker, though.)</span>
</p><p><span>He took the detour into the side street with a twitch of his hand. Stifling a yawn, Peter flew through the broken glass panel and kicked the would-be-burglar into the brick</span> <span>wall. He flicked his wrist and webbed up the burglar into a convenient package for the police, whenever they got here. </span></p><p>
  <span>The cashier peeked over the counter. “S-Spider-Man? Thank you so much! Is there anything I can do to… uh, thank you?” she finished weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter glanced around. This place looked like a Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall (now literally), and the prices were cheap. He hadn't been going for it, but...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually, could I order some burgers?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The restaurant was busy frying up the other twenty burgers (and five mushroom burgers for Peni) and a horde of fries while Peter chowed down on the three in front of him. They weren't half bad, actually. A bit spicy, but good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pleasant mood from the burgers faded when the police pulled up. He worked with New York’s finest, of course, but their goodwill towards him ebbed and flowed, and it usually ebbed. Who knew how they felt about Blondie now? Peter stood up, glancing back at the kitchen and wondering if he should just write off the food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In came a tall, broad, African-American officer with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Davis</span>
  </em>
  <span> inscribed on his name-tag. “Spider-Man!” he said, loud and strict.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, great. He was one of those “you’re a menace” policemen. Peter turned around, prepared to make his escape, when—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing out on that leg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter turned back around, utterly bemused at the disappointed expression he saw on the officer’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had broken ribs, an equally broken arm, and what my wife described as ‘the worst compound leg fracture’ she’d seen in years. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Years!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He jabbed a finger in Peter’s direction. “Your silly vigilantism can wait for a couple months until you get better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter, honestly, had no idea how to respond. No one had talked to him like this in ages. There’d been Aunt May before, and a couple police officers back when he’d been a twerp, but there were now fully grown adults who’d been born in a New York protected by Spider-Man. Many could even drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Ouch. Twenty-two years of super-heroing. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>old.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Peter simply stood there with a mix of nostalgia, affront, and confusion as Officer Davis continued on his tirade. He didn’t want to screw things up for Blondie. Maybe he worked with this rather grumpy officer here, like how Peter had with Captain Watanabe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—you have anything else you can do? Hobbies, maybe? Anything besides wanton property destruction?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter coughed and pointed a thumb at the unconscious robber in the back. Really, that wasn’t his fault! It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>his fault, despite what the tabloids said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Officer Davis glanced at the criminal as if finally remembering why he was here. “Right,” he mumbled, pulling out handcuffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter waited in awkward silence, hands in his pockets again as Davis took care of the burglar. He didn’t want to say anything and make it more difficult for Blondie, even if the younger-alternate-him seemed like an annoying, steam-pressed boy scout. At the same time, though, Davis’ unsubtle looks really deserved a comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was spared having to say anything by the appearance of someone in the weirdest knock-off Spider-Man costume he’d ever seen: white, hooded, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>ballet slippers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They hung upside down from the window, suspended by a web, and tapped on the remaining glass. Next to them was the second weirdest knock-off costume he’d seen, though he could recognize it as an awful Christmas edition that had sold weirdly well. In Christmas-Kid’s arm was a… desktop computer. Okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spider-Man,” said the albino edition in a higher-pitched, rather familiar voice. “We need to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his spider-sense went off (</span>
  <em>
    <span>like-you-you-you)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, proving that they were unfortunately not overly-enthusiastic fans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s more of you?” Davis exclaimed, fixing them with a glare. “Look, you’re encouraging deviant behavior with your get-up! It’s not safe for anyone, especially you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christmas-Kid, who’d been waving, froze upon seeing the officer standing with the criminal. Ghost-girl simply ignored the man and tapped impatiently on the glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One minute,” said Peter, rolling his eyes. He winced when Officer Davis looked confused—he and Blondie looked the same, age and coloring aside, but Blondie’s voice was different. Peter wasn’t sure if it was from getting older or something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, his five bags of food were placed on the counter with a breathless “thank you!” right about then. Peter slapped three twenties and a ten on the counter (courtesy of Aunt May), deftly dodging the woman’s attempts to shove them back in a bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mumbled something vaguely like “bye” in the officer’s direction and ducked out of there before he could mess things up further. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spider-Man, wait—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Peter had already propelled himself to the top of the building, the other two Spider-People following close behind.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact, there's actually zero pattern to the song lyrics that I pick for the title. Thanks for reading, and thanks to my lovely beta-readers: GwendolynStacy, iaso, Igornerd, fishebacke, and JustAnotherOutcast.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. i'll tell you all about it when i see you again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Miles wasn’t sure why, but there was something that felt… off about Spider-Man. Maybe it was the lazy way he hopped from one place to another. Maybe it was the voice that was just a little deeper and raspier than he’d expected. Or it could be how he seemed sort of… chubby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Running into his dad of all people lecturing Spider-Man </span>
  <em>
    <span>again </span>
  </em>
  <span>might’ve explained some of it, though.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spider-Man,” said Gwen, collected as always. They’d switched off carrying the computer again, so now she had it tucked under one arm. “We need your help—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh-uh, explain when we get back.” Spider-Man took out a burger from the bag </span>
  <em>
    <span>in mid air</span>
  </em>
  <span> and began eating it. “I don’t want to hear it twice.” He bit into the bun and while chewing, added, “How’d you find me, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles held up his phone and almost dropped it. After he shoved it back in his pocket, he cleared his throat. “Tweeter. There’s an account that reports all sightings of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tweeter? You mean Twitter?” Spider-Man said slowly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no…” Miles shot him an odd look. “Tweeter. The social media platform?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget I asked.” In a move that was actually crazy impressive, Spider-Man tossed the wrapper straight into a trash can a hundred meters below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was pretty cool,” admitted Miles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always cool, kid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen cleared her throat. “Where are we going again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To where all the other Spider-People are.” Spider-Man chuckled at their shocked expressions. “What, you thought you were the only ones?”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter strode in with bags of food held aloft. “I bring sustenance,” he announced, throwing the appropriate bag to the appropriate person. Noir, Porker, and Peni all perked up from their respective places—a set of color pencils, a television playing Looney Tunes, and a laptop—and pounced on the food with glee. Peter handed Aunt May her burger and fries and gave Blondie, still dozing on the couch, a critical look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wakey wakey!” He tossed the last bag at Blondie and grinned when it smacked him in the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blondie woke with a groan and a muttered, “Asshole.” He picked up the crumpled, greasy bag and wrinkled his nose. “Did you really need to wake me up for this? I’m not even hungry.” Peter suspected that Blondie ‘hadn’t been hungry’ for a while now; he was lean and muscled, yes, but also at the edge of being suspiciously skinny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did need to wake you up. Spidey-metabolism needs food to work, you know. If you actually plan on helping stop the collider, eat up so you can heal faster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That seemed to work, and Blondie reluctantly unwrapped a Tex-Mex burger and began to eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter pretended not to notice Aunt May’s grateful smile and instead grabbed a handful of fries from Peni’s bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, get your own!” she complained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did get my own, and I ate it all.” Peter shoved it in his mouth and chewed. “That’s why I’m eating yours,” he said through a full mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gross.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Peni gave him the evil eye and looked about ready to tackle him, but a small cough from the doorway distracted her. “Who’re they?” she asked, eyes wide as she stared at Christmas-Kid and Ghost-Girl. Right, he hadn’t gotten their names yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I also brought back two more spider-people,” said Peter nonchalantly. “Surprise.” He motioned them forward. “You can come closer. I’m pretty sure none of us bite. Usually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, do come in!” Aunt May called out. “I think Peter ordered a couple extra burgers, so you’re welcome to have some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t a couple extra burgers,” he grumbled. “They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two newest members of their menagerie slowly walked in, taking in the four other spider-people. Christmas-Kid seemed beyond stunned at the gathered group, eyes stretched as wide as they could go, while Ghost-Girl was stiff and subdued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, introductions.” Peter pointed at each of the others and rattled off names. “That’s Aunt May, don’t get on her bad side. That’s Peni, who’s from a universe in the future and has a cybernetic robot mecha. That’s Noir, who’s from the past and punches Nazis. That’s Porker, he’s a pig. Don’t ask any questions about that. That’s Blondie, this is his dimension, and I’m Peter B. From the not-weird universe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Doc,” corrected Blondie. “All of us except Peni are Peter, so he’s Doc to keep things simple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-Hi,” Christmas-Kid stuttered. “I’m…” He blinked at Blondie. “Spider-Man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure you’re not Spider-Man.” Peter raised an eyebrow as Christmas-Kid stared at Blondie with starry eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the Spider-Man I brought to my house!” He took off his mask and grinned, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was younger than Peter expected. “I’m glad you’re okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s you! Miles, right?” Blondie smiled back, and Miles looked about ready to jump to the moon. Great. Hero worship. The kid would learn soon enough not to put other people on a pedestal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes so much sense!” said Miles. “I was wondering why Spider-Man was suddenly all…” he glanced at Peter, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>that,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he wasn’t my Spider-Man at all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s offensive.” Peter rolled his eyes. Teenagers. “So you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>from another universe, Miles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m from here. I got bitten a few days ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter could see that Miles had taken in a deep breath of fanboyism, so he cleared his throat and spoke before it could be expelled outwards. He gave Ghost-Girl a deliberate look. “Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>from an alternate universe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled off her mask, revealing a face that sent a low pang of grief and guilt through him, even twenty years later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” There stood his old high school friend, still stuck as a teenager. “I’m Spider-Woman there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gwen?” Blondie blurted out. “What’d you do to your </span>
  <em>
    <span>hair</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re one to talk,” Gwen responded automatically. “Blond? Really?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both winced, a mix of emotions sliding across their face at the realization that they’d slid into roles that no longer existed. Blondie closed his eyes for a moment, probably with the same realization that Peter had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Gwen plastered a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s…” Blondie began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter cleared his throat </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, making it seem like he was coming down with a cold. “Wow, this is awkward.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His own failure to save his Gwen Stacy—which had carried over to the other Peter Parker, judging by the current mess—had been twenty years ago. The wound ached, yeah, but it was dull, scabbed over by time. And, if the roles had reversed as neatly as it seemed, Gwen had gone through the same thing with a counterpart Peter, and she couldn’t be more than sixteen. It had probably been even more recent for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter patted Miles (who had the ‘I have no idea what to say, this is really weird and also really sad’ expression on his face that all spider-people eventually developed) on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the team, kid.” He eyed the desktop computer still in Gwen’s arms. “Now, are you two going to tell me why you’re lugging that around?”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still stuck on the couch, Peter dozed on and off while the rest of the spider-team analyzed the info that Miles and Gwen had brought. (And wasn’t that a mind trip? Gwen Stacy, his old high school friend, being alive as Spider-Woman in another dimension? Now he knew exactly how Doc felt about Aunt May.) He was both impressed and exasperated that Miles, having had his powers for less than three days, managed to get into a situation like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was even more impressed that they’d managed to grab Olivia Octavius’s computer—and a USB with Fisk’s files. All that evidence made Peter’s case against Fisk that much stronger. When he dumped the info on the BFI and PDNY’s doorstep, they might actually be able to lock him up for a little while longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that they had confirmation that Doc Ock and Kingpin planned on activating the particle accelerator tomorrow night, the mood changed. There was a new focus as everyone did their part to prepare. As much as Peter wanted to help, he knew that his job was to actually get some rest so he could shut it down from the outside. So, reluctantly, he tried to relax… and eventually, he managed a dreamless sleep for the first time in months.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter woke up with an arm that hurt marginally less and a leg that could actually bear his weight. He flexed his fist and took a deep breath, relieved by the decreased pain. Super-healing could really come in handy sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, sunshine,” said Doc from behind the counter, a black cup of coffee in hand. Peni was next to him with another black cup and half a container of sugar, but while Doc seemed ready to pass out and fall asleep, Peni was as jittery as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Blondie, you’re awake!” she chirped. While Peter watched with awe, Peni chugged the cup and poured herself another one. Doc double-taked next to her, almost choking on his own coffee. Even Porker and Noir, who were eating breakfast at the table, paused in silent fascination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning to you too.” Peter yawned and delicately stretched, testing the limits of his not-as-battered body. He’d have to be careful, but he could manage. Probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee?” Doc asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter limped over, adding a heap of cream and sugar to the offered mug, and waited for it to cool a little more. “What?” he said defensively at their judging looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, I just think it’s kinda blasphemous to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps, and then the doorbell rang. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> those footsteps, and he knew that there was only one person who’d come over to Aunt May’s at eight in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quick!” Peter hissed at them. “Hide!” He hurried to the door without checking if they’d listened, running his hand through his hair and straightening the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Police Academy </span>
  </em>
  <span>hoodie that he hadn’t bothered to change out of. Then, he opened the door with a beaming smile. “MJ!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His beautiful, perfect wife smiled back, bangs askew, and Peter wanted nothing more in that moment than to brush them aside and kiss her. So, that was exactly what he did. (He was married. He was married to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had only been three months since their wedding, and married life seemed to get better with every day.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was worried!” she said once they pulled apart, though her arm was still wrapped around his shoulder. “You didn’t come home last night. Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” With an (unbroken) arm around her waist, he kicked the door closed and walked towards the couch. “I was a little injured, but it’ll heal up fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” said Mary Jane. “Especially since you have that big—” She froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter followed her gaze and saw that Doc was still standing in the kitchen, equally frozen. It took everything Peter had not to groan and facepalm. His counterpart had one job. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One job.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Jane slowly turned back to him. “Peter? Who’s… this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but shoot Doc daggers with his eyes, wishing for once that he could burn people to a crisp like Cyclops. “This is… my cousin!” he said, trying to hide his panic. He winced at Mary Jane’s dubious look; his dad only had one sibling, and she’d had no kids, obviously, while his mom had been an only child. “My distant cousin. My... grandfather’s brother’s kid’s son—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Peter from a future alternate universe,” interrupted Doc. “Don’t lie to your wife, Blondie.” He sniffed. And then sniffed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, this was not happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was Doc… crying? Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Doc was crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to be honest,” he said, voice shaking. “You have to be honest and work through your issues, and you have to start thinking about kids! Don’t put it off until the last minute. You can’t. Don’t screw this up, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was being all weepy. Why was Doc being all weepy? Dread pooled in Peter’s stomach. It wasn’t because of the same reason that he’d been so awkward around Aunt May, was it? Peter stared into space, traumatized. He could not deal with this right now. He couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—and listen to your wife when she says to unload the dishwasher, don’t just take it for granted that it’ll be done once you collapse after punching supervillains in the face—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Jane suddenly spoke up. “Were we married in your universe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc froze again like a deer in headlights. “We were,” he said weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I die?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He took in a shaky breath. “I fucked up. We broke up.” Doc shoved his face in his hands and began to sob. “I miss her so much!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MJ pulled him over to sit on the couch and began to comfort him in a soft voice. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay to let it all out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was so weirded out by the whole situation, but he could deal with the existential mind warp… until Mary Jane motioned him over, giving him that look like she expected help.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he mouthed, pointing at himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she mouthed back, glaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly sat on the other side of Doc, stuck in the position of comforting an alternate version of himself about something he didn’t do—something that terrified him just as much. Honestly, Peter felt like he needed to be comforted about this too. Just the thought of leaving Mary Jane made him nauseous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s…” well, he couldn’t say </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because it absolutely wasn’t okay that Doc had split up with his wife for a nebulous reason, “It’s…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Porker popped in then, sparing him from saying something but also opening another can of headaches. “Now the cat’s out of the bag,” said the pig cheerfully, ignoring MJ’s gasp, “can we all come out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His amazing wife took all the introductions in stride. She shook Porker’s hand, smiled at Noir’s hat tip, and bowed back to Peni. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes when Gwen gave an uncertain introduction, but MJ had never personally met his friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re taking this pretty well,” said Porker. “Better than some of us.” He gave them both an exaggerated wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Jane laughed. “I’m married to a man who runs around fighting crime dressed like a spider. Of course I’m handling this well.” MJ looked at Peter and shook her head, amused. “Let me guess. You’ve been dealing with this instead of studying for your big exam?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter experienced the heartstopping panic that could only come from forgetting about something class-related. “Exam?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, your basic principles of hetero-something catalysis and energy transformations exam that you were worrying about for the last week?” Mary Jane gave him a pitying look. “The one that’s in a few hours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stared into the distance, feeling his impending doom approach. “Car accident?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc had returned from the bathroom after composing himself, but his eyes were still red. “Won’t work,” he drawled, acting like he hadn’t broken down in front of them. “If you’re taking it with Dr. Bahn, then you’ll need proof from a hospital. I tried that once, and she even called the doctor to confirm. She’s a real stickler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could forge the note!” said Peni. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we can pretend to be your ‘doctor’ when she gives a ring,” Porker added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no.” Peter closed his eyes and held back a groan. “But thanks, guys. I already re-took her last two exams. I don’t think she’ll take pity on me this time.” He smiled, trying to keep it together. “It’s okay. My grade can take it.” His grade couldn’t actually take it, and he’d have to retake the class next semester, pushing back his degree </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should go.” Doc shrugged. “We can handle ourselves for a couple hours, and it’s not like we can really do anything in the meantime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The old man has a point,” said Peni, grinning at how Doc squawked in protest. “Education is important! Don’t screw up your grade just cause you want to babysit us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter gave a slow nod. “Alright. I’m going to call Ned and ask for his notes.” He rubbed his face, trying to remember what material was going to be on the test. “I have to run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do,” said MJ mildly. “Especially since there’s a football game today and public transportation to Empire State is going to be crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful.” Peter was about to run out the door before he remembered that he was dressed in nightclothes still. He cursed under his breath and ran back in to change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure you get back by tonight!” There was a strange look in Doc’s eyes as he smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or else we all die! No pressure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks!” Peter said goodbye to his wife, his aunt, and the rest of the gang before running out with his shirt half on, completely unprepared for the exam he’d have to take before saving the world.</span>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter ended up in the bathroom </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, totally not crying. He splashed water on his face to pretend that it was the only reason there was moisture on it. Yes, he remembered from his one session of therapy that emotion wasn’t a sign of weakness, and it was okay to grieve and all. Peter couldn’t break bad habits that easily though, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t want to burden the Spider-Kids after they already witnessed his embarrassing breakdown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and Peter spun around, his face still dripping. Gwen—kid Gwen, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what a mind trip—stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. Oh. He’d forgotten to lock the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry—” she blurted out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine, it’s my fault,” he said, sighing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around and found the embroidered hand towel that Aunt May kept folded in the corner. If this Aunt May was like his (she was), then she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> want anyone to use it, though Peter didn’t understand what the point of a hand towel was then. MJ was the same way—oh no, his eyes were beginning to water again. Peter grabbed the towel and scrubbed at his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up. Gwen was still staring at him like a deer in headlights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wow, he couldn’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> right. “Sorry. Sorry, this is awful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen was leaning on the tip of her toes, a halfway ballet thing that she had done—still did—when she was nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Gwen, hesitant. “That… that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter paused halfway through putting the towel back on the rack. Gwen wasn’t running away like he’d expected. Like he probably would have, if the positions were reversed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you… need the...” he gestured vaguely to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, right, yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter walked slowly past her, adding this to the list of moments that would keep him awake at night out of embarrassment, right next to the drone event and the “You too” he’d said to the bank robber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stopped. He turned around and stared, just a little flabbergasted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I get it,” repeated Gwen. “It’s… </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, seeing someone that... yeah,” she finished, trailing off into a mumble. “Forget it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Gwen was trying to comfort him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s—” He rubbed a hand over his (dry) face. “Yeah. Yeah, this can get rough. The whole Spider-Ma—Person-ing thing. And the fuu… nny stuff we deal with everyday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made Gwen smile a little and Peter heaved an internal sigh of relief. This wasn’t a complete disaster, then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter continued before he could chicken out. “It’s Peter, isn’t it? Well. Peters. Blondie, Noir... They remind you of </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen froze, and he knew that if he didn’t speak fast, she’d bolt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Blondie definitely does. I don’t know if I do, I’m really old, and your Peter probably wasn’t old,” okay, maybe he was speaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> fast, “but I get that you get it. And thanks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too.” Gwen blinked. She seemed surprised that she was talking at all. “You remind me of him too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was her limit, apparently, and she ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. Great job! Saving the world by making one teenage girl cry at a time. He slumped and headed back to the kitchen. There was no way Aunt May would let him get drunk, but at the very least, he could try to drown his problems in coffee instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles’ mind had been blown in so many different ways.The leader of Alchemax was an evil lady with tentacle arms, he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>superpowers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and there were multiple spider-people from multiple universes. And his universe’s Spider-Man had offered to train him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles could be like Spider-Man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, while sitting in math class, watching the teacher go through a particularly tricky problem… Miles realized that he was kinda terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had listened to their stories, to their death-defying accomplishments and city-saving and sometimes world-saving actions. He had heard them talk about them like it was no big deal at all, like standing up to criminals with guns and villains with reality-tearing powers was just another day. Miles had witnessed them </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> heroes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know if he could be one too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles had helped Gwen get the computer, but he’d gotten captured while doing it. He wasn’t even sure how to control his powers. They were random at best and detrimental at worst. How was he supposed to be a hero when he couldn’t do anything right? When he couldn’t do anything by himself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(When he was scared?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t ask his dad about it, not when he still disliked Spider-Man. And if Miles did ask, he’d just think that Spider-Man was being a bad influence, as usual. He couldn’t confess this to the other spider-people either, not when they were already dealing with so much. There was only one person Miles could talk to about this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, after his second class, Miles left school and went to his Uncle Aaron’s house, hoping he could get some answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron’s flat had the sort of laid-back atmosphere that Miles desperately wished he could pull off. Neon lights and bright paintings decorated the flat, and if Miles tried to keep his room in that casual disarray, his parents would ground him until he tidied up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle had irregular hours, so Miles wasn’t surprised when he let himself in and found his uncle missing. That was the life of a freelance artist/odd-job-doer, as Uncle Aaron frequently complained. Miles simply pulled out his sketchbook and began to doodle while he waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His muse went straight to the Spiders. He could be one of them soon. (He </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He just didn’t know if he wanted to.) How would his costume look like? A real costume, not the Christmas knock-off that was stuffed in the bottom of the backpack? He liked Gwen’s understated colors, but he didn’t think he could pull off so much white. Mostly black then, with just a hint of color...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After just an hour, his uncle strolled in. He looked tired. His faded shirt was singed in several places, and his pants were covered in dirt. Worse, a fresh purple bruise stretched across his neck. Miles grimaced in sympathy. It must’ve been a hard job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Uncle Aaron,” he said, just as his uncle closed his eyes and yawned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle practically jumped back a whole foot, hand reaching for something as he looked around wildly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miles?” he said, exhaling slowly. “You gave me a heart attack. I didn’t know you were coming over. Did you text me? My phone’s been dead, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles cringed a bit. “Uh, no. Sorry, I just… I just came here without thinking,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Miles. Just let me know next time, so I don’t throw a brick at my favorite nephew because I think he’s a burglar.” Uncle Aaron sat next to him and glanced at his sketchbook. “Artist’s block?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little,” he lied. Actually, Miles had just filled four pages with suit designs and redesigns, but he’d flipped to a blank one before Uncle Aaron had seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all get that from time to time.” He nudged him with a knowing smile. “Sometimes, you just gotta push through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right.” Guilty, Miles looked down. “You look exhausted, Uncle Aaron. I’ll come back later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s fine.” He stood up. “I’ll just get some water and some food and I’ll be good. Just had a late-night job, that’s all.” His uncle went to the fridge to do just that. “Do you want anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron paused halfway through opening the fridge. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but—” Miles felt a lump in his throat and he wasn’t sure why. “I just needed to talk to someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle grabbed a water bottle, shut the fridge, and sat back down next to Miles. “Hey, Miles, what’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes. “Uncle Aaron, when did you figure out what you wanted to do? When did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle was quiet for a moment. “When I couldn’t see myself doing anything else,” he said finally, softly. “It was the only life I knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being an artist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron gave him a half-smile, shallow compared to the grins he usually saw. “Yeah. It’s hard to make a living off it, which is why I’m always doing other things, but… I guess I’ve always seen myself as an artist before everything else.” His gaze dropped. “Even if others don’t see that first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles guessed his uncle was talking about his dad, who didn’t think Uncle Aaron was doing anything productive or good. It was the same way his dad thought about Spider-Man. It was the same way his dad would think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if he decided to be a hero like the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if… what if I’m scared?” He stared at the blank page. “Scared to do what I want? Or to do what’s right?” And what if they were different things? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone’s scared, Miles.” Uncle Aaron’s smile grew even more tired, and he looked away. “It’s what you do after you’re scared that matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone?” None of the spider-people seemed scared. Not Gwen, none of the Peters, not even Peni.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone.” He pulled Miles in for a hug. “Even me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles stayed like that for a moment, letting himself relax. It had been a crazy, crazy couple of days. It wasn’t even over yet. They still had to shut down the reactor and get the others home, and Miles would eventually have to deal with the fallout of all the classes he skipped. (He’d also have to decide.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Miles made another decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Aaron? I have something I need to tell you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry, completely slipped my mind that yesterday was Tuesday! Anyway, here's the next chapter; biggest thanks to my beta readers, and thank you all for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. i don't wanna be the reason why</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron frowned. “You know Spider-Man?” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles nodded, surprised at how calmly his uncle was taking it. He’d already passed the point of no return, so he took a deep breath and continued. Uncle Aaron listened to his explanation with a neutral expression, only asking a question here and there for clarification. Miles told the general gist of the situation: finding an injured Spider-Man, deciding to help the others to get home, and their plan to stop the collider before it opened a black hole, swallowing all of New York in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only that last bit gave Uncle Aaron pause. “All of New York City? They’re positive about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles shrugged, repeating the bits of the science discussion that had gone way over his head. “Yeah, something about the instability causing space-time to collapse. They’re not sure how bad it’ll be, but losing all of NYC is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span> case scenario.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle seemed troubled at that, but anyone would probably be a little concerned about one of the world’s largest cities spontaneously disintegrating in a few days if a particle collider wasn’t stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one thing Miles didn’t tell his uncle about was his newfound powers. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe because he’d gotten bit during their trip to the sewers, and he didn’t want his uncle to feel guilty. Maybe because he wasn’t sure how he felt about his powers just yet either. Either way, he kept the story of his involvement at a minimum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron leaned back on the couch once Miles was done talking. “I see,” he said finally. “Alright. You got yourself into a bit of trouble, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.” Miles exhaled, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lessen. It felt good to have (almost) everything out in the open, with someone he knew he could trust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle took a deep breath. “I think…” He paused. “I think you should be careful. You said that the spider… people?” Uncle Aaron pulled a face, and Miles couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, anyway, the spider-people probably have it under control. The people they’re going up against sound </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Miles. It’s… good that you wanted to help, but you already did a lot. You should leave the rest to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron sounded more uncertain than Miles had ever heard, but to be fair, this was kind of a strange situation. He was just glad that his uncle hadn’t yelled at him or assumed he was lying. Miles had gone through the last few days terrified of screwing up, and hearing that he didn’t do so badly, it… it made him feel better about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle’s previous words stuck to his brain, jangling around until it clicked. Miles straightened, and his thoughts seemed to settle. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s what you do after you’re scared that matters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Uncle Aaron. I know what to do now.” Miles stood up, sketchbook in hand. “You’re probably tired, so I won’t bug you anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle looked worried, forehead creased and hands held tight. “Miles, say that you’ll go back to school and stay away from them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you later!” he called out instead of an answer. “Bye!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miles, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the door, and he knew exactly where to go next.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s ribs hurt, his arms hurt, his legs hurt, and now the blessed science of energy transformations and catalysis were making his head hurt. The material wasn’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>tough</span>
  </em>
  <span> (well, okay, maybe it was tough, but Peter had worked with worse), but he’d neglected learning the material in the place of doing important things like stopping crime and preventing megalomaniacs from destroying the world. The universe was really rewarding him for that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The exam was in thirty minutes, so Peter and his study buddy Ned—who’d really </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried</span>
  </em>
  <span> to help, honestly, despite the futility—left the library early so he could limp across campus with a splinted leg. Halfway to the exam room, a trip that would take five minutes by walk and thirty seconds by Spider-Man, Peter heard a vaguely familiar voice call out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me. Excuse me! You there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly turned to see one of the last people he’d wanted to run into today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Officer Davis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter made eye contact and slid his gaze to the side like he hadn’t noticed anything, but it was too late. For a moment, he sincerely considered making a run for it. Peter knew, however, that sprinting away from the cops on a splinted leg would be considered suspicious, and… the resulting chase would make him late for the exam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer caught up, giving both him and Ned a friendly grin. Ned smiled back, a bit confused but entirely unsuspecting. Why would he be? To him, this was just another police officer who probably needed something innocuous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, gentlemen,” said Officer Davis. “Do you know where the Stark Center is?” He gave an apologetic smile. “There’s been a few incidents across campus due to the football game. You know how fans get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter couldn’t help but be completely suspicious and equally panicked. Why was Officer Davis here? What did he want? His identity was at risk (though it’d already been compromised), but was there any way to keep it from being blown completely?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! We’re headed in that direction, actually. Our exam’s in the building next door,” Ned replied cheerfully. “We can show you the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wanted to groan. He appreciated Ned’s helpful nature, he really did, but this was not the time. “You do that,” he said to his friend, edging away. “I need to get—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nonsense.” Officer Davis gave him a firm look. “I can help you with that. It’s the least I can do for your help.” He gave Peter a once over and sucked in his breath. “Ouch. Your leg and arm look busted. Here, let me help you carry your books, Mr...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter didn’t say anything despite the obvious question and backed away, bumping into a girl with her sorority’s letters emblazoned on her t-shirt. He hissed at the jolt of pain that ran up his shoulders, and the perfectly-coiffed girl gave him an apologetic look before hurrying away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned looked between the officer and him, more confused by the moment, and volunteered, “That’s Peter. I’m Ned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter,” finished Officer Davis. He maneuvered himself into grabbing the two textbooks from Peter’s left arm and continued walking alongside them.  “How’d you get injured, Peter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter still didn’t say anything, hoping either Davis or Ned would get the hint. His eyes darted from side to side as he wondered if he could slip into the bigger-than-usual crowd. There were people in ESU hoodies, scarves, and hats as everyone got into the spirit for game day. All it would take was grabbing someone’s red-and-orange cap and turning the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Minor car accident,” Ned answered for him again, obviously </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>getting the hint. He was getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though, and his eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. “Peter said it wasn’t so bad, though. Just a sprain. It should heal up in a week!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>sprain</span>
  </em>
  <span>, huh? Looks a bit more serious than that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter could tell that Officer Davis was trying to give him a meaningful look, but he deliberately didn’t make eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, Peter heals fast—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ned!” he finally said, exasperated, teeth gritted. “I’m sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>Officer Davis</span>
  </em>
  <span> here doesn’t want to be bored by all this small talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes. Just five minutes till they reached the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s fine!” Davis gave a fond smile. “I love talking to citizens, keeping the peace and all that. Especially </span>
  <em>
    <span>college students</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he emphasized again. Right, Peter had lied about that. “My own son’s only a few years away from joining you two. What do you study?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Peter hid a grimace at the irony. He wasn’t sure if Miles wanted to help him fight crime, but the officer was more accurate than he realized.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m finishing up my master’s in computer science with a graduate minor in chemical engineering. I’ll probably get a real job after that.” Ned shrugged, winking at Peter. “I’m not like this guy, who’s going for a PhD after finishing his master’s in chemical engineering. He could get a job in any company for six figures, but he insists on staying in academia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter cringed. He knew that Ned thought he was too humble and everything, but could he really not brag him up to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>police officer who knew his identity?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chemical engineering, is it?” Officer Davis seemed determined to land his meaningful look. “That’s a good field. Stable, well-paying, respectable… </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ned nodded. “Oh yeah, absolutely. Especially with this guy’s brains. Did you know Peter has a patent already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Impressive! Not many people can pull that off.” Davis actually sounded like he meant it. He tilted his head. “You know, Peter, I think we’ve met before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Peter gritted his teeth. “Sorry, I don’t remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I even think I saw you yesterday. At a burger place?” The officer cleared his throat meaningfully and looked Peter up and down before frowning, his forehead wrinkled with puzzlement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Peter actually was confused. A burger place? He’d been stuck at home on the couch—oh, right, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doc</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His counterpart had gone to get food, and he apparently had the Parker luck. Peter internally groaned, hoping that Doc hadn’t done anything that he’d have to cover for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, look!” said Peter instead of answering. “We’re here! Well, let’s go, Ned. We don’t want to be late to our exam. Bye, officer!” He grabbed his friend with his good arm and attempted to drag him away. Ned went along with it, though the look in his eyes meant that Peter was going to be interrogated after the test.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice meeting you, Peter. Let me know if you need help,” Officer Davis called out. “I’ll talk to you soon!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the sudden feeling that he’d gotten himself into another world of trouble, Peter was going to do his absolute best to make sure that didn’t happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span> <br/></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles did end up going to school for the last two classes out of guilt, and to his relief, no one commented on his absences. That one kid who was in all of his classes frowned at him, and his roommate Ganke Lee kept giving him suspicious looks, but Miles managed to fly under the radar until school was over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second it was, he went over to Mrs. May Parker’s house with his Christmas Spidey mask on, just like old Doc Peter had suggested last night. Then, Miles knocked on the door and was let in by the cheerful elderly woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mrs. Parker,” he said, scratching the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, call me Aunt May. Everyone does.” She ushered him in, asking about school and lunch and the things that parents usually did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles gave hesitant answers, his heart racing as he turned over his resolution in his head. He was doing this. He was going to do this. Really. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they entered the living room, he looked around for one particular Spider-Man and couldn’t find him. “Is Mr. Blondie Peter here?” he asked, disappointed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old Dr. Peter looked up from the fading </span>
  <em>
    <span>National Geography </span>
  </em>
  <span>magazine on his lap. (Huh, Miles didn’t know that people actually read those.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Went to take an exam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of comforting that even Spider-Man had to deal with that, Miles thought. He could ask them how they managed the whole ‘two lives’ thing. Miles really didn’t want to skip as much class as he had in the last couple days. Even if the academy was boring and unbearably stuffy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay,” said Miles, sighing. “I was gonna ask if he could show me the ropes like he said.” He gave Dr. Peter a careful, not-too-eager look. “Could you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles shrugged. “Okay. Gwen’s probably better at the spider-stuff anyway. I’ll ask her.” He turned his face to Gwen, giving the wide-eyed, hopeful expression that neither his mom nor Uncle Aaron could resist. “Hey Gwen, do you want—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute,” interrupted Dr. Peter. “You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> just imply that the other kid is better than me at spider-manning.” He paused. “Er, spider-womanning. Because she’s not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I probably am.” Gwen raised an eyebrow from her position in the corner of the room. She’d hesitated during Miles’ question, but Peter’s claim made her relax again. “Have you seen yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, woah.” Dr. P stood up. “No. No, I am not dealing with this disrespect. I have been spider-manning since before </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you were born. I’ve forgotten more than all of you put-together!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How old’s Noir?” Peni said, looking up from her project. Electricity sparked as she rewired the toaster to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> that toasters were probably not supposed to do, but everyone knew better than to question it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As old as the pallor of justice,” responded the detective.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea how old that is,” Porker’s hands were dripping again for unspecified reasons, and the water droplets went flying as he gesticulated, “but I know Blondie’s twenty-six!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. P paused and amended, “Since before </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>all of you were born. Don’t discount experience, kids!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles grinned. “Alright. Prove it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen snickered at the expression on Dr. P’s face as he realized the corner he’d backed himself into. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, “no, no, no. I know exactly what you’re trying to make me do. It’s not gonna work. It’s not. I am going to sit back down on this couch, find something in Aunt May’s pantry, and go back to reading this article about octopus feeding habits.” </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>worked, Peter thought sourly as he stood on a low building not far from Aunt May’s house. The spider-twerps—minus Peni, who was still finishing her toaster monstrosity—stood on either side of him, radiating smugness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, show us your moves, Dr. P,” said Miles, and Peter could </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear</span>
  </em>
  <span> his grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you can just call me Peter, right? There’s no other Peters here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I could. And you’re Dr. Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>B.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Parker, right?” Miles casually put his hands in his jacket-pockets in a way that could only mean trouble. “Does that mean I get to call you B-eter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter groaned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Teenagers. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Seriously. It was hard to believe he’d ever been this young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It suits him.” Gwen’s mask gave even less away than Miles’, but her snarky grin was even more obvious. “He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a beater. You know, the car—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s less funny when you explain the joke, kid, and it wasn’t funny to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles gave Gwen a not-so-surreptitious fist bump, proving again that teenagers had terrible senses of humor. Peter wondered if it was too late to jump off the building and never return. Why had he agreed to do this again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Oh, right, because seeing not-his-Mary-Jane had sunk him into existential depression, and he’d wondered if going outside would help, even a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure she still loves you,” she’d said. “You should talk to her and tell her what you told me.” Not-his-Mary-Jane had hesitated then. “Bring her something nice. Chocolate, maybe. Or daisies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And how awful was it to think that he’d probably never get a chance to do that again?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, the moves?” said Miles again, interrupting his self-loathing. “You said you were all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter threw his arms up in the air. “What do you want me to do, kid? Perform a circus trick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be pretty cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was about to jump off the building for real when Gwen brought forward a calm suggestion of her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about we do a practice fight?” She was trying to play it cool, but Peter could read the tension in the stiff lines of her arms. “Just to see who’s better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I dunno... That doesn’t seem like a good idea to me,” he said dubiously. He couldn’t help but think of that disastrous conversation about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter. He’d probably screw this up too. “It feels wrong on a lot of levels to beat up a teenager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>If</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can beat me.” Gwen crossed her arms. “And we can put some ground rules. Nothing below the belt, nothing permanently damaging, and whoever hits the ground first loses. How’s that sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter still hesitated, but Miles was more eager. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! That’d be really cool!” He was practically vibrating in place. “I can be the ref?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Peter gave in. “Alright, fine. Just a quick one, and then you two leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judging by the looks the two gave each other, he had a feeling they would do anything but that.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gwen, Peter realized, was really good. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Really </span>
  </em>
  <span>good. It was hard to believe she’d only been doing this for two years. He definitely hadn’t been close to that good at spider-manning at her age. So far, she’d been completely on the offensive, and what an offensive that was. Gwen moved with fluid, deliberate grace and speed, weaving in and out, being in three places at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice,” commented Peter as he ducked under a kick that would’ve probably taken his head off his shoulder. He barely finished talking before she flipped into another kick that he hopped backwards from, just before it made contact. Gwen had the bad habit of overextending herself just a tad, relying on her spider-sense and balance to compensate during her flurry of attacks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter, on the other hand, hadn’t made an offensive move yet, and he could tell it was beginning to frustrate her. She leaped forward with a right hook that he bent backwards to avoid, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ow,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was going to pay for that later. At least he’d done his stretches before agreeing to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, if this was a competition of stamina, he’d probably be conked out if he attempted half the moves that Gwen was doing. His back would definitely have given up after the first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, it wasn’t a competition of either stamina or flexibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for Gwen to over-extend a second time, and with a simple maneuver he’d picked up from Deadpool of all people, he flipped her over as gently as he could so that she hit the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of the kids were silent for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the heck was that?” burst out Miles. “You were all—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand how you—” Gwen began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—pow, ninja dodge, woosh—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—dodged everything so neatly, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—do you have other powers or—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—that takedown you did—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright!” Peter ran a hand through his hair that definitely needed a cut. He huffed. “One at a time, people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you do it?” they both said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, experience.” He gave a casual, totally-not-smug shrug, having totally </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>enjoyed himself. “You know, I wasn’t joking when I said I’d been spider-manning since before you two were born. You’d think I picked up </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> in those twenty-two years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What things?” Miles stared at him with wide eyes. “Can you show us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen didn’t say anything, but she was just as curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to regret this. He was really going to regret this. This was a bad idea, he was bad with kids, he was bad with </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and helping them out would just make things more difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed. “I guess I can show you a few things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles reevaluated his opinion of Dr. P </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little bit. Sure, he was a slob, and he didn’t really care about anything, and he was kinda gross when he ate fifteen burgers in a row, and he complained about </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything…</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he could be sort of cool. Maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite everything else, Dr. P clearly knew what he was doing about the Spider-Man business. During the fight with Gwen, he’d moved </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> enough each time to avoid her attacks, and then out of nowhere, he’d dropped her to the ground. And, after Miles had worked his magic, he’d showed them things that were sort-of-kind-of useful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can do that,” said Dr. P after watching the video of Blondie Peter fighting. Gwen had pointed out that one super-cool move and asked him about it. “I mean, I don’t do that </span>
  <em>
    <span>anymore</span>
  </em>
  <span>, since it’s killer on your glutes, and not in the good way. But the trick is to hold your position just a little past what your spidey-sense says before decelerating into a flip. It’s better to rotate into it, though. Less flashy, but just as effective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a little bit more pleading, Dr. P had given in and showed them. (Miles totally recorded the lesson.) He moved like a pro and made it look easy, though his explanation was sort of handwavy when he got to the details. Gwen tried the twist and stumbled, catching herself on the side of the building before trying one more time. Dr. P demonstrated again… which was when they both glitched and fell straight down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Miles hollered from the top as they both groaned, buried under a pile of snow. There was some trash frozen in it, and some parts looked suspiciously yellow, but Miles decided not to mention that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Gwen brushed the snow from her suit and shot a web to the top of the building, landing next to him in a delicate crouch as if nothing had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just peachy,” mumbled Dr. P, standing slowly. He slinged himself to the top as well and stretched, twisting his back one way and then the other. “That glitching is seriously annoying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles hesitated. “Good thing you’re going back tonight, then.” He’d miss them, honestly, especially Gwen, but it was better than them disintegrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Dr. P looked away. “Good thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mindful of the gloomy mood that had come over both of the spider-people, Miles quickly asked, “Hey, do you think I could try that move?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Dr. P and Gwen immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No offense, Miles, but it’s a little complicated.” Gwen nudged him. “Maybe in a couple months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I wouldn’t attempt it till year two,” muttered Dr. P.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older Spider-Man’s words sent a warm feeling through Miles’ chest. They thought he’d last two years? He rubbed the back of his head, bashful. If they thought he could manage it, then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess I should work on my electric powers and invisibility first.” He tried to play it off as something casual, but Dr. P immediately craned his neck around and stared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, electric powers? Invisibility? You mentioned something about that during your Alchemax break in. Can you show me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles froze when both gave him an expectant look. “S-Sure.” He took a deep breath and strained, searching inside him for… </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> electric-y or disappear-y. Miles even closed his eyes as he clenched his muscles. After a moment, he opened his left eye to peek at both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did it work?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, kid, you’re still here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen gave him an apologetic look, but it didn’t help the disappointment that weighed him down like a rock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess it’ll come with practice,” Miles sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a second, Dr. P clasped him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, Miles, you still have time.” He gave Miles a smile, one that was surprisingly kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(For some reason, though, it didn’t feel very happy.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Heh, I forgot that the last chapter was a little bit of a cliffhanger. Thanks for reading, and thanks to my lovely betas GwendolynStacy, JustAnotherOutcast, iaso, fishbake, and Igornerd!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. you better just fix your posture</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When they returned to Aunt May’s house, Miles saw that the spider-people were basically all doing the same things as before. Peni had made the toaster into </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> before moving on to the microwave, Noir was staring at a rubix cube, and Porker was making a pie that frankly looked delicious. With a groan and a stretch that popped his back, Doc Peter collapsed on the coach and picked his Nat Geo magazine back up. After a moment, Gwen took the farthest chair and pulled out her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, this was a good time as any. “Hey, guys?” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word, but he plowed through like nothing had happened. “I was just wondering…” </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. P, who was already grumbling about his back acting up from their field trip, gave him a suspicious look. When Miles didn’t say anything more, Dr. P raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what’re you wondering about? Do you want more advice about web-slinging? I can give you some, but don’t expect any more practical demonstrations, got it?” He frowned. “Like when it snows, don’t land on anything iced. You’d think that’s obvious, but sometimes you can’t tell and you’ll slip right off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not that. But that’s useful, I think.” Miles hesitated again and then decided to get it out all at once. “I was just wondering why you all decided to become Spider-Man. Or -Woman,” he added, looking at Gwen and Peni.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause as all the spider-people turned to give him a look. Even Aunt May, in the kitchen with Porker, paused to glance over from her dough.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What brought this on?” asked Porker with a half-laugh.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I just... wanted to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Dr. P gave Miles a look that wasn’t exactly dismissive—maybe curious was a better word. Well, that wasn’t right either. His head was tilted and his lips were pursed as if he was evaluating Miles. “Doesn’t this ‘verse have those comic books and ‘with great power, yada yada?’”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They did, and Miles had read almost every one until he’d entered middle school. “Yeah, but I wanted to hear the reasons. From you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second, he thought no one was going to answer.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Peni went first. “I didn’t really have a choice, honestly,” she said, fidgeting with the screwdriver. “After my dad… died, I was the only one with the connection to SP//DER.” Her voice grew soft. “I hated it at first, but…” Peni looked down, staring at the microwave with more focus than it probably deserved, “I can help people. I can stop accidents from happening, and… I can make sure that SP//DER’s powers are used for good.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt May reached over and squeezed Peni’s shoulder, and the girl gave her a grateful look.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Porker was next, and for once, his voice was solemn. “I sort of fell into it, in more ways than one. My Aunt May took me in, gave me a life when she didn’t have to. I wanted to make a difference like she did, and I could. I can’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t save everyone, but that doesn’t mean we should stop trying.” He ducked his head and began stirring the apple pie filling harder.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It started as a quest for revenge,” said Noir simply. “But it became a quest for justice.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Gwen said nothing and looked away. Her fists were clenched, and she looked ready to bolt out of there.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I—” Dr. P huffed. “I don’t know, kid. I’ve been doing it for so long, I just…” He ran his fingers through his hair again as he stared at the photos of other-Peter on the wall. “I guess it’s when… I looked around for a hero,” he said finally, “and I realized it had to be me.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Miles let it sink in. He glanced at each of the heroes sitting in the room and took a deep breath before asking Aunt May the question that had been churning in his gut.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, ma’am… do you think it’s okay if I…” He took another breath. “Could I make a suit? Like Spider-Man’s?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause as all the spider-people considered. Miles tried not to stare in their direction, but he couldn’t help but notice their expressions. Noir and Porker were almost unreadable with their masks on, but Peni was clearly uncertain, biting her lip as her eyes darted between Aunt May and him. Gwen’s eyebrows were raised in something between surprise and pride, and Doc Peter, he…</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He just looked sad.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Aunt May’s expression, though, was completely neutral. “Why do you want to make one?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Because I want to help.” Miles didn’t have a tragic backstory or anything, nothing that pushed him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Nothing like they did. But his parents had always told him to help when he could, so…  “I want to try. Everyone here’s done so much, and I want to make things easier. Not just for the people, but for Spider-Man too.” He bit his lip. “I think I can do this.” He wasn’t sure about it, but he’d already gotten this far. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Aunt May gave him a smile. “Well, that answer is as good as anyone’s.” She put down her rolling pin. “Come on, then. Let’s go to the shed and see what fits.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>One of Blonde Spider-Man’s older suits fit perfectly, but Miles couldn’t help but make some modifications. In the end, he went with the first design he’d sketched: black with just a little red. While Aunt May and the others let him use a can of spray-paint for the body, Dr. P put his foot down about using it on the mask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try fabric paint or something,” he said, exasperated. “Do you really want to be breathing fumes all day? Trust me, I tried regular paint once, and it gave me a headache.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Miles compromised and did the face with fabric paint. Once he finished, he took a step back and looked at his handiwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks good, kid.” Dr. P gave him a reluctant smile. “I gotta admit, you’re not half-bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It suits you,” said Gwen, half-smiling at her unintentional pun. “I bet it looks even better when you wear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Miles pulled on the mask and looked at himself in the mirror, he had to admit she was right.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tugging his ratty jacket closer, Peter stepped into the outside cold. He exhaled, and his breath came out in thick clouds. Seeing Miles so determined, so excited... had he ever been that small? What had he been thinking?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't been thinking. Uncle Ben's death had been so fresh, and Peter had... needed to do something. Turned out, becoming a superhero as a teenager wasn't the best coping mechanism. In all honesty, it was probably just as bad as some of the more traditionally self-destructive habits that he could've picked. Maybe Peter should've developed a drinking problem instead, he thought darkly. At least then it’d be easier to get support. After all, there was no such thing as Superheroes Anonymous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped Miles would be better. He had an actual mentor in the form of Blondie (though wasn't that a different can of worms?), and hopefully he wouldn't need to do anything dangerous until he could legally drive. Hopefully until he could legally drink, but getting superpowers resulted in the worst case happening nine-out-of-ten times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peni was so young too, and Gwen... Peter paused and looked up. Speaking of Gwen, she was outside too. But instead of walking on the ground like an old loser, she was practicing the move that he’d shown her. Well, the one that Miles had recorded and both wanted to learn. She didn’t have her mask on, and she wore a thick jacket over her suit. Probably Aunt May’s doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to practice spidey-skills on the roof?” he called out to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen fumbled mid-flip, but she recovered nicely and, after balancing on the roof, jumped down and landed next to him. “I’m dead in this world,” she said with familiar teenage defiance. “No one will figure out my identity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aunt May’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> house. People might get suspicious if they see a bunch of weirdos dancing on the roof. In broad daylight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t dancing—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah." He raised an eyebrow. "I showed you that move like two hours ago. Don't you think it's a little, uh, excessive to practice already? You're not gonna perfect it in one day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen gave him a mulish look as if to prove she could perfect it in one day, just out of spite. He grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don’t have to try so hard,” said Peter. He blinked. Woah, that sounded way more serious than he intended. And just a little condescending.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her annoyed look became a glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I mean that—" He stopped. Saying 'you're just a kid!', even if it was true, wasn't a way to make kids listen. "Don't overwork yourself before the big fight, you know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not me you need to worry about," she said, scowling. "Blondie's the one with a broken arm."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure it's hard to believe, but I'm capable of worrying about more than one person," he said in a complete deadpan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know my limits."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter laughed. "Kid, there isn't a single Spider-Person in the multiverse who knows and listens to their limits." He rubbed the sleeves of his ratty jacket. "Now, are you gonna come inside? It's getting cold out here, and I think Miles is worried that you left to save the world without him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That brought a small smile from her. It was a bit disconcerting how easily Peter defaulted to what Mary Jane called 'overprotective spider-henning.' He couldn't help it! Everyone just looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small </span>
  </em>
  <span>now. It was a little hard reconciling the Gwen Stacy he remembered from high school (twenty years ago, gah!), and the Gwen who was checking her cell phone to avoid meeting his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe later,” said Gwen finally, putting away her phone. “I think I need to… be alone for a little.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that.” Peter stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. “It okay if I stay outside too? I promise I’ll be quiet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen shrugged a shoulder in a way that Peter took as a yes. He hid his smile and sat next to the ugly gnome statue that apparently </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> version of Aunt May had. Miles, Gwen, Peni… they were all good kids. The smile faded a bit when he thought of the plans for the collider. He’d make sure that no one would hurt them, even if it was the last thing he’d do.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter almost slammed the door behind him as he entered Aunt May’s house, but the fear of his aunt’s reaction was greater than his irritation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t even ask how the exam went,” he muttered. ”My head still hurts from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at the time and realized it was already five. They wouldn’t have much time to prepare, but they’d already gone over the plan the night before. (Exhaustion already began to sink into his bones. Peter should’ve skipped the exam; the trek to, across, and back from campus had drained him. And if he was being honest, his injuries were also flaring up in a constant throb since he hadn’t been too careful at the university.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That bad, huh?” Doc smirked. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> glad those days are over for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, rub it in.” Peter rolled his eyes back and gingerly sat on the couch, trying to act as natural as possible. Unfortunately, the change in position caused his ribs to jab into his internal organs, and his lungs hitched. “My grad school life isn’t important right now, anyway. There’s bigger things to worry about—like how you’re all getting home. Are we ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc seemed unimpressed by his deflection, but he nodded anyway. “As ready as we can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other three spider-people plus Miles all murmured their agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. We’ll leave in an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Peter could continue, a phone rang, blaring a pop song that he’d heard on the radio for the last month.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“… needless to say, I keep her in check… </span>
  </em>
  <span>“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles answered it. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other person’s voice—and anger—was clearly audible, even without spider-enhanced senses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Miles. Where are you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“D-Dad? I, uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tell me where you are. Now.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m at… my dorm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No. You’re not. I’m standing in your room.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles tapped mute and stared at them with panicked eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Waterloo Diner,” said Peter quickly. It wasn’t far from here, and it wasn’t far-fetched that a teenager had snuck out from his dorm room to get food. God knows that Peter’s teen years had been a never-ending quest for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m at Waterloo Diner,” repeated Miles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brief silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m coming to pick you up in three minutes. You better be there.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” There were three short beeps when Miles’ dad hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, what do I do?” He looked two seconds away from freaking out. “Our mission’s in an hour, and my dad—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give you a lift,” said Peter, trying to keep his voice soothing. “It’ll only take fifteen seconds to swing there. And don’t worry about the mission, Miles. We can handle it.” The kid’s role was going to be lookout, anyway, and they hadn’t planned on him actually seeing any action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’ll do it.” Doc heaved a sigh and stood up. “Your arm’s still busted, Blondie, and carrying around a brat will make it worse.” He gave Peter another look that said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice try, but I saw that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Miles shot him a glare, but he was already relaxing, his shoulders less tense and his breathing slower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, kid.” Doc tugged on his mask. “There’s no point in you getting in even more trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the look on Miles’ face—and the fact that his dad was one of the sternest officers Peter knew—Peter suspected Miles had already crossed that point a while ago.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It really was a fast trip by web. Something that would’ve taken ten minutes by walk barely took ten seconds. Miles couldn’t appreciate the view or the trip, though, not when his gut was churning with dread. Dr. P dropped him off in the alley by the diner and gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck. And don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.” With a backward glance, Dr. P web-slung his way back above the rooftops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As goodbyes went, that was pretty bad, and Miles realized that he hadn’t gotten a chance to really say anything to the others. Especially Gwen. Instead, he was left in the diner, tapping his foot as he desperately tried not to panic. Miles couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe</span>
  </em>
  <span> that his uncle had ratted him out! He’d trusted him! There was no other way his dad could’ve figured it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A police cruiser pulled in front of the store, and his stomach dropped even further at the look on his dad’s face. Slowly, Miles took a seat in the back. His dad pulled out into the street, but he didn’t say a word. No lecture, no scolding, not even any yelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, the silence was much worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter adjusted his leg splint, tying it a tad tighter and shifting the parts that dug into his skin. Then, he adjusted the one around his arm, flexing his fingers and testing his range of movement. Only the forearm was broken, so his upper arm had a full range of motion. Mostly. Ignoring the part where it attached to his shoulder. Well, his minor injuries were all healed up, so that was one less thing to worry about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter privately bemoaned his luck for the thousandth time. In any other situation, he’d do a bit of light patrolling for a few more days and be as right as rain. Yeah, that wasn’t really an option now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After texting Mary Jane some heart emojis—his last pre-‘off-to-save-the-world’ ritual—Peter tugged on his suit, slipped the goober in his pocket, and went to where the other spiders were standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad to see you’re joining us,” said Doc with a snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest were suited up as well. Peni waved at him from inside her mech, Noir gave his quintessential hat tip, Gwen nodded and looked away, and Porker… wasn’t here yet, actually. Peter glanced around for the pig, only for him to appear behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, everyone!” announced the pig. He winked at the oldest Peter. “What’s up, Doc?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of equally trademarked disbelief as everyone contemplated that and simultaneously decided to move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter cleared his throat. “We’re ready to go, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said Gwen quietly. She didn’t look at him, instead examining her web-shooters, her body tilted towards the lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried not to let the hurt at her constant cold-shoulders show on his face. Of all the spider-people, he had spoken with her the least. The not-history between them was too thick, too fresh, overwhelming with the could-have-beens and never-happeneds. Especially for her. Peter had tried, once, to start a conversation. Gwen had made an excuse to end it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He’d wanted to try again, but… maybe it was better this way.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” Doc stretched, interrupting his thoughts, “I wanted to talk to you, Blondie.” He waved off the others. “I’ll meet you outside in five?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other three had various levels of reluctance, but they finally all agreed and left. Now, Peter was alone with his older counterpart. Doc looked tired, his face pinched and drawn. All of them had put on a brave facade, but the glitching was clearly taking a toll on them. Especially on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you want to talk about?” said Peter, checking the clock. They still had ten minutes before their agreed starting time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wondered if he wanted to discuss any future events to look out for. Of all the spider-people, it looked like he and Doc had the most similar universe, if shifted a bit timewise. He wasn’t really sure why Doc would want to speak separately about that, though. Maybe it was about Mary Jane? It’d be kind of embarrassing to go in-depth about marriage troubles in front of a bunch of kids—but that hadn’t really stopped him before. (Still, Peter wasn’t quite sure he wanted to hear it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc gave him a slow, long look. “You’re not doing well, Blondie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, he hadn’t expected that. “What do you mean?” said Peter, trying to keep his voice level. “I’m doing fine. Great, even. I just got married, I’m almost done with my masters—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not talking about that,” Doc interrupted. “Well, okay, maybe I am a little, but that’s not what I meant. You’re fraying, Blondie. You’re pushing yourself too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you want me to stop?” Peter’s voice was more biting than he’d intended, and then his mouth ran away from him. “You want me to give up? Drop my responsibilities, become like you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc’s forehead creased a little, but he kept his expression firm. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> what happens when you don’t slow down, when you aren’t honest—with MJ,” he cleared his throat to cover the crack in his voice, “or with yourself. Take a break now and then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I can’t take breaks!” Peter almost shouted, but he caught himself at the last moment. “If we take breaks, people—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People die, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought but didn’t say. Doc knew well enough what happened when Spider-Man took a day off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc sighed, long and slow. The blue lighting deepened the shadows under his eyes and the wrinkles at the corners. “You have to take care of yourself, or you won’t be able to take care of others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, those two words hung in the air. Doc slumped, but he kept his voice gentle, his gaze steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter, it’s hard to break twenty years of bad habits.” His smile, like everything else, was tired. “Less hard to break ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter looked at his counterpart, seeing the wear and tear of two decades of superheroing, of bad decisions and heroic ones—which sometimes were the same. His hair was just as thick, if unkempt and half-gray, with darker stubble and half-lidded eyes. He was more of a cynic than Peter had ever been, and he didn’t have an Aunt May or Mary Jane to balance it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try,” said Peter finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. That’s all I can ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s spider-sense went off. Before he could even force his battered body to react, he was pressed up against the rolly chair and covered in webs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha—” He struggled against the restraints and winced when it twisted his ribs the wrong way. “Doc, what the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older man leaned over him and pulled the goober from his pocket. “Thanks, kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doc, what are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Peter struggled again. “We have to stop the collider!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to stop the collider.” Doc tucked the goober in his jacket and began to walk away. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to stay here and heal up before you get killed. I’ve fought Kingpin and his posse before, and I almost died. You’re half-dead already. How well do you think you’ll manage when we go through the portal and leave you behind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ll die if you stay in this universe!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc shrugged. “I’m the oldest, anyway, and I have way less to lose. You said it yourself, Blondie. You’re doing great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter couldn’t believe it. Of all the stupid, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>things that got stuck in Doc’s head, it had to be self-sacrifice?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to prove his point, Doc fractured into a mess of colors before coalescing back into a human shape. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear a bad thought, and strode forward like nothing had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>glitching</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” snapped Peter, even as Doc stepped on the rising platform. “What’re you going to do if that happens in the middle of fighting Kingpin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc shrugged as he rose to the top. “We’ll cross that portal when we get to it. Or won’t, in my case.” He waggled his fingers. “I’ll see you around, Blondie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stupid, self-sacrificing </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hatch in the ceiling closed, and Peter was left alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles got the lecture eventually, of course, and his mom was completely on his dad’s side this time. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but it still stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re there to study, not to waste time! This is your chance to have a better life. That’s all we want for you, Miles. A better life, where you can be happy without worrying about money or safety. I know it feels like we’re being hard on you, but it’s only because we love you.” His dad wasn’t even looking at him when he said it. His voice wasn’t loud like he expected, but instead it was subdued, quiet, in a way Miles had never really heard before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach churned with guilt, even though Miles knew he shouldn’t feel guilty for trying to help others, for trying to save the world. But how could he feel anything but guilty when his dad said things like that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom touched him lightly on the arm, as if she couldn’t make up her mind about hugging him. “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>chiquito, no estamos enojados</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, sighing. “Just… disappointed. We trusted you, and you… you didn’t do what you were supposed to. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” Miles cut himself off, frustrated. Yeah, they were both right, but his friends could </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Miles didn’t think he could tell his parents about interdimensional travelers. His dad knew about Spider-Man, but he didn’t know about Miles’ powers. He thought he was doing the right thing by grounding him. “I know, okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why’d you do it?” asked his dad, finally looking at him. And his dad looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt </span>
  </em>
  <span>that the anger in Miles died, replaced by something more desperate. For a moment, Miles wanted to tell him everything and deal with the consequences later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Dad.” Miles clenched his fists. “But, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>important. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m just trying to do what’s right! To do what you and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mamá </span>
  </em>
  <span>always tell me to do and help people!” His mom was a nurse. His dad was a police officer. Their </span>
  <em>
    <span>job </span>
  </em>
  <span>was to help, and Miles </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was doing that too, in his own way. In a way that was, maybe, just as important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then tell me, Miles. I can help.” His dad reached out, and his hand lingered between them for a moment before he let it drop. “You don’t have to do this alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles didn’t say anything more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad sighed, long and deep and </span>
  <em>
    <span>unsurprised</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and maybe that was the part that hurt the most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to your room, Miles. We’ll talk tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he was stuck in his old room until then—with permission from the school, who had told his dad about the absences too</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span>after which he’d go back to class. Miles paced from the window and back, eyeing his headphones before deciding that there wasn’t a song that could help him now. He was stuck here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the meantime, the world could end</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or at least New York.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe he wasn’t completely right about that. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> leave the room. It’d be a simple matter of opening the window and stepping out. But if Miles did that, he’d have to find a way to explain escaping from a locked room on the second floor to his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone’s scared, Miles. It’s what you do after you’re scared that matters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned and put his head in his hands. How could Uncle Aaron say that and then rat him out? It would’ve been so much easier if he could just leave from his dorm room. (It would’ve been so much easier if these powers had gone to someone else.) Miles groaned again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could always just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his room. The other spider-people were good. Experienced. They could probably handle it. Miles was only supposed to be lookout, anyway, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if they needed him? What if they were stuck here because he wasn’t there to tell him when a villain was planning a surprise attack?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I looked around for a hero and realized it had to be me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man didn’t take the easy way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spider-Man did what was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles rummaged in the bottom of his book bag and pulled out the ugly Spider-Man: Christmas Edition he’d bought with Gwen. He stared at the green-and-red patterns on the polyester mask. It was a little ripped from the fight with Doc Ock, and the eye holes were already coming apart at the seams. His custom suit and borrowed web-slingers were still at Aunt May Parker’s house, so this would have to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the mask on and wedged open the window. Miles paused, foot on the windowsill. Just a few days ago, Spider-Man had done the same. He’d broken his arm and leg and a dozen other things, but he still went forward. And it was Miles’ turn to act.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no going back now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles stepped out the window and began to climb.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to my betas (GwendolynStacy, iaso, fishbake, Igornerd, and JustAnotherOutcast) for being wonderful. Thanks to y'all for reading!</p><p>Ah, we're almost at the climax! :D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. now i wear 'em like a badge of honor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was harder to get across town without web-slingers. Miles had to time each jump carefully in a spider-parkour (<em>Peter Parkour</em>, he thought, and despite everything, he couldn’t help but laugh). For once, Dr. P’s advice came in handy as snow began to fall, and Miles made sure to avoid the slippery patches. The buzzing sense in the back of his head helped too. </p><p>When Miles finally made it to the top of <em> Trust Us Bank</em>, he could see all of New York. It was more beautiful than the first time he’d seen it. Neon light washed the world in bright shadows, and the billboard with the Koka-Kola lady smiled and faded into an ad for shoes. Cars honked at bicyclists and pedestrians, and everyone hunched over and quickened their pace as snowflakes flurried around them. Millions of people were living in the towering, glittering buildings around him, going about their lives, having their own stories.</p><p>His heart swelled. This was his city, and he was going to save it.</p><p>Miles let the cold air fill his lungs and leaped.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Peter had tried shouting for Aunt May, but they’d made the shed soundproof. Their grand plan for keeping his activities from the neighbors wasn’t so helpful now. He’d tried rolling around the room in the shed, looking for something to cut himself free, but there wasn’t anything in reach. He even tried tearing through the restraints, but the webs were <em> strong, </em>stronger than they should have been, and he couldn’t use his full strength without hurting himself.</p><p>That did leave him plenty of time to think about… well, everything. About Mary Jane, about his life as Spider-Man, about everything that Doc had said. </p><p>He’d kept his wonderful wife in the dark when it came to his missions. Well, Peter told her the vague outlines, the general gist—stopping a crime lord, helping catch bank robbers—and the funny anecdotes, but never <em> who </em> or <em> where. </em> It seemed safer that way, and MJ had stopped asking years ago. Did Doc really think it was that important to confide in her more? To put her in danger, burden her with all these extra troubles? All his fears, all his heartache, everything that bounced around in his head at night, keeping him awake next to her as he worried, worried, <em> worried</em>. How could he, when she deserved so much better?</p><p>It was… hard being Spider-Man. But Doc hadn’t stopped, not in twenty-two years. Peter hadn’t really thought about stopping either. Not until he’d seen Doc, tired and worn and insistent on moving forward. Would that be him, ten years from now? Still Spider-Man?  </p><p>And there was Miles. He hadn’t planned on the kid becoming some version of a superhero. Peter did plan on training him how to use the powers, to use enhanced strength, adhesion, and precognition for small everyday benefits. More importantly, Peter planned on teaching him how to control those powers. He wasn’t going to burden Miles with Aunt Bennie’s creed. Peter could handle the responsibility. He <em> would</em>.</p><p>But then the kid had gone and made himself a suit. Miles was already swinging from buildings and stealing from supervillains. Peter hadn’t been that much older when he’d started, but now it felt different. (It felt wrong.) Maybe it was for the best that Miles had been caught by his dad.</p><p>He sighed and leaned back against the chair. The webbing would eventually biodegrade, but twenty-four hours was a long time. Everything would be over by then. Peter glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since Doc’s sneak attack. He’d probably be able to catch up if he escaped within the hour. With a shake of his head, Peter tried again to break out.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Twenty three minutes later, after Peter had tried for the third time to use his teeth to activate the lift, he heard the overhead doors groan open—and voices.</p><p>“... I left the resized web-slingers and suit in here,” said Aunt May as the platform began to drop. “The others already left, but—” She caught sight of Peter and stared. Him trying to lick the button probably had something to do with that.</p><p>Miles followed her gaze, clearly confused, and then gaped wide-eyed at the tied-up Spider-Man in the chair.</p><p>“Peter?” said Aunt May.</p><p>“Blondie?” said Miles at the same time.</p><p>With a click, the platform settled into the floor, and Aunt May rushed forward. “What happened, Peter? I thought you’d already left!”</p><p>“I was <em> supposed </em>to,” Peter grumbled as she did a once-over. “But, in Doc’s infinite wisdom, he decided to do it all himself and leave me behind. Forcibly.”</p><p>Aunt May grabbed the web-dissolvers from the top shelves, giving him a quick spray. Peter wrinkled his nose at the smell but stood gratefully when it bit through the webs like acid. (Which it <em> was</em>, just not the kind that burned away skin.) It didn’t clear away everything like it should have, but it was enough for him to break free. “Tanks, Aunt May.”</p><p>“I’m just sorry I couldn’t help sooner.” She gave him a quick hug and a smile, but it was that same smile she always had before Peter went out to be Spider-Man.</p><p>"It's fine," he said dryly, trying not to mirror her smile. "We can't all have super-hearing."</p><p>"So that's part of it?" Miles turned back, his black suit gathered in his arms. "I wasn't just imagining hearing stuff?"</p><p>"You got it." Peter tugged on his own mask. "All our senses are enhanced 'cause of the spider venom. I'll tell you more about the perks once this collider business is over." Since Miles couldn't see his smile, he gave the kid a thumbs up. "Thanks for helping me get out, Miles."</p><p>Miles rubbed the back of his neck. "O-Oh, it's mostly Aunt May who did that. I just came here to get the things."</p><p>"And if you hadn't done that, then I would've been stuck here," said Peter. He rolled his neck, feeling again for sore spots. "I'm heading out now. I have to stop Doc before he does anything stupid." He turned towards his aunt. "Can you give Miles my number?" With a look back at the kid, he added, "I'll call you after everything's over, and we can figure out what to do about—"</p><p>"I'm coming too!" Miles blurted out. "Just let me change."</p><p>Peter hesitated. "I don't know if that's a good idea..."</p><p>"It <em> is </em> a good idea." Miles sounded more certain than Peter had ever heard. "I gotta be the lookout. Plus, you're still hurt. You can use a hand." He cracked a smile. "Especially since yours is broken."</p><p>Peter rolled his eyes, though behind his mask, no one could tell. "Arm. My <em> arm's </em>broken." Still, he couldn't help the smile that creeped into his voice. He glanced at Aunt May, who gave him a small nod. "Alright, kid. I'll take you as lookout. Don't try to get in the fight, okay? These guys are dangerous."</p><p>Miles nodded. "Got it."</p><p>"Good." Peter clasped him on the shoulder with his good hand. "We don't have time to waste. If we're going to meet up with the others, we gotta leave now."</p><p>Once Miles suited up—with the addition of his old hoodie, which considering the weather, probably wasn't a bad idea—the two waved goodbye to Aunt May and went to catch some spiders.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Miles was swinging next to Spider-Man. <em> His </em>city’s Spider-Man. It felt completely different swinging around at night under his own power. Miles gave a whoop and spun. </p><p>“You’re not bad, kid,” said Blondie Peter, giving him an aerial thumbs up. “The first time I tried, I ran straight into a wall.”</p><p>“Thanks!” Miles shouted back. “Gwen and Dr. P showed me some tricks!” The second he said that, Miles was struck with Spider-Man luck. He slipped from his foothold on the glass and plummeted below, managing at the last minute to shoot a web anchoring to a ledge.</p><p>“Kid!” Blondie was right next to him, arm outstretched.</p><p>
  <em> Avoid the hand, tuck your knees, kick off the car, run! </em>
</p><p>His super-instincts—what the spider-gang called the spider-sense—was practically screaming at him, so he listened. He lurched to the left, avoiding Peter’s grip… just in time to miss the flash of purple that tried to grab him. With a yelp, Miles bounced off the hood of the car, ran alongside a bus, and yanked on the web, catapulting him into the air. He glanced down during his moment of weightlessness, and his eyes widened.</p><p>It was the Prowler, the same guy that had tried to catch them before!</p><p>The New Yorkers below shouted and stared, but just for a moment. Everyone in the city knew the drill; besides the few that had cell phone cameras but no self-preservation, the majority of people began to clear the street, funneling into businesses—or at least hurrying up and turning the block. </p><p>Miles only had a moment to contemplate it, though, as gravity soon caught up. Smoother than before, he shot another web and flew forward, this time landing on a gargoyle’s head. Blondie landed neatly next to him and gave him a quick, obvious once-over. </p><p>“You scared me half to death!” said Blondie, breathless. “Are you okay?</p><p>Miles gave a half shrug, grinning despite his pounding heart. “I was just going along with the spider-sense. Like you guys said.”</p><p>“Guess it’s for the best.” Spider-Man shook his head and glared at the Prowler, who was already climbing up the side of the building with his electric claws, leaving dents in the stone. Wow, that villain was <em> fast</em>. “Anyway, I’ll handle this. Get out of here.”</p><p>Miles opened his mouth to protest just as the Prowler reached the ledge, hands crackling with electricity. Blondie edged further in front of him, web-shooters aimed and ready.</p><p>Then, the Prowler froze. Or, maybe it was better to say that he <em> hesitated</em>. The crackle of electricity faded as he gave them both a once-over, much like what Blondie had done. The Prowler’s eyes lingered at Miles' spray-painted logo and his jacket, and Miles didn’t blame him. His outfit <em> was </em>pretty awesome. (And Miles knew that the Prowler was a bad guy and everything, but his purple and black was kinda dope too.)</p><p>Blondie paused, clearly confused. “Aren’t you going to attack us or something?” said Blondie slowly. “What, do you need a cue card? My permission? I mean, you won’t get it, but you usually don’t wait.”</p><p>“Yeah!” piped up Miles, peeking around Peter’s back. “Aren’t we gonna start the action?”</p><p>“Kid!” Blondie glanced at him, clearly exasperated. “Get <em> out </em> of here!”</p><p>The Prowler stepped back. His suit flickered purple, and his claws flexed, but he didn’t do anything else. Miles stared as the villain just stood there. He shared a look with Blondie, who scratched his head, clearly as confused as him. Then, Spider-Man snapped out of it.</p><p>“Time to go!” shouted Blondie, and before Miles could blink, they were both airborne. </p><p>Blondie had an arm around his waist and they swung fast enough that everything was a <em> blur </em>of lights and colors, and Miles could barely breathe with how the air rushed against them. When they were fifteen blocks away, the Prowler long faded into a purple dot in the distance, Peter landed on a different rooftop, shaking slightly as he rubbed his broken arm.</p><p>“I could’ve swung here myself,” mumbled Miles, feeling guilty again. “Is your arm okay?”</p><p>“It’s fine, Miles. Really. I just wanted to put some distance between us and the Prowler.” Peter pulled up his mask a bit, just enough to show a smile. “But we can swing the rest of the way there.”</p><p>“Yeah… okay.” Miles glanced backwards, thinking about the way the Prowler had just… not done anything. “Does that usually happen?” </p><p>“No,” Blondie stretched out the last syllable, dropping it in pitch as he relaxed his posture just a bit. “That almost never happens. But let’s not jinx it.” He tilted his head in the direction they were heading before Prowler’s sudden appearance. “Come on. We need to rush if we’re going to catch up with the—”</p><p>“Got it. I’ll race you there!”</p><p>Grinning, Miles jumped off the building, just in time to hear Blondie squawk and yell, “Hey, no fair!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>With the snow falling around them, Peter wished that he'd kept his sweatpants. This was actually his summer suit, light and breathable, which was great in the New York heat. Not so much now. None of the others seemed to have any trouble—Gwen's was clearly insulated, Peni was in a giant robot, and Noir had a full <em> coat</em>. (He didn't even think about Porker. With Spider-Ham, it was better to just not use logic.)</p><p>He hoped that Blondie wasn’t trying to do anything stupid and escape. Ah, who was he kidding, of <em> course </em> Blondie was going to be stupid. Peter just hoped he didn’t hurt himself too bady while attempting it. After all, he’d used the last of his own web formula, and it was better than the kind from ten years ago. More bouncy, too, and it took a moment for Peter to adjust to the new-old formula he’d borrowed from the shed.</p><p>Peter smirked under his mask as a man in a coat ran into a stop sign, too busy gaping at the four spider-people who swung through the air. Peter suspected that Spider-Man was an old sight in the city, just like he was in his own (real, not-soggy) dimension... but <em> four </em> spider-people, including a talking pig and a giant robot, was probably less common.</p><p>It was a good thing that the others had believed him about Blondie joining them in an hour after taking care of some stuff. Well, maybe not completely—Gwen had given him a suspicious look, and the others were various levels of dubious—but they’d taken his explanation in stride. It would hold until they got to the collider, after which it didn’t matter. They’d have to go through the portal anyway.</p><p>Of course, that’s when Blondie <em> actually </em>showed up, with Miles close behind.</p><p>“I win,” said Blondie with a smugness saturating his voice. “How does it feel losing to someone who’s all ‘broken up?’” Blondie made air quotes with his (broken) arm, waggling his fingers through the splint.</p><p>Miles’ shoulders slumped as he pouted with his entire body, somehow managing to look dejected while swinging in the air. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in. You totally cheated.”</p><p>The others weren’t surprised at Blondie’s appearance, because Peter’s excuse had come true, but they were all glad to see Miles. Peni’s robot changed its expression to a cheery (^ u ^), Noir tipped his hand and said something about a “hotsy-totsy,” and Porker let out a “Hey, hey hey!”</p><p>“Miles!” Gwen waved. It seemed like all spider-people had godawful poker faces, because Peter could clearly hear how happy she was despite the mask and her ‘too cool for this’ persona. “How’d you manage to get away?”</p><p>Cringing, Miles almost put his hands in his pockets before remembering that <em> oh, yeah, swinging in midair. </em>He flailed for a moment and fell back into a rhythm, coughing in a way that convinced no one. “I… uh, I kind of snuck out. My dad’s totally going to kill me.”</p><p>“Oh, cheer up!” said Porker. “If we don’t save the city, the collider will do that for him!”</p><p>They all groaned. “Thanks for the reminder, Porker,” mumbled Peter.</p><p>“Yeah, <em> thanks</em>,” repeated Blondie, glaring at Peter.</p><p>For a moment, Peter thought about webbing the boyscout version of him to the side of the building. Unfortunately, the other spiders probably wouldn’t let that happen, especially not when they found out Peter’s plan. Besides, they were almost at the second entrance to the collider—located in the tunnels that Blondie had pointed out before. It was too late.</p><p>His spider sense <em> screamed </em> as electricity crackled around them, and suddenly Miles was in the clutches of the Prowler. </p><p>“Mi—” everyone began to shout before remembering that yelling the name of a secret identity while a villain was there definitely wasn’t a good idea. Each person finished it with a different on the spot name as they dashed after the villain.</p><p>“Web-boy!” said Blondie, just as Peter yelled “Kid!” and Gwen shouted “Arachnid!” </p><p>(Noir’s cry of “Tiny Spider!” was a little late, and Peni’s mech let out an angry beep that was basically the same thing.)</p><p>Peter craned his neck to stare at Blondie as he shot a web in front of the Prowler, forcing the villain to change directions and run straight into Peni. </p><p>“Web-boy? What kind of stupid fu—”</p><p>“There’s kids here!” Blondie cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna save you, Web-boy!”</p><p>The robot’s claw wrapped around the Prowler’s leg, just in time for Porker to fly out of nowhere and kick him in the head. The Prowler stumbled, and Gwen was already there, freeing Miles from the villain’s grip. </p><p>“You mean, Porker, Gwen, and Peni will,” Peter said dryly.</p><p>“They’re part of <em> we. </em> ” Blondie was rolling his eyes—Peter could just <em> tell. </em></p><p>He had half-feared Prowler would try to discharge electricity to electrocute Miles, or at least threaten it, but he kept the kid lightning-free. Strange. (A huge relief, but <em> strange. </em>) The Prowler in his world didn’t wantonly kill or destroy things, but he wasn’t above underhanded tactics like hostages… and actually using the hostages.</p><p>“You okay?” said Gwen.</p><p>Miles brushed off his suit. “Yeah, I’m—”</p><p>They glitched. Pain exploded between his cells and in every nerve, sharper and longer than before. Through his spider-sense, Peter was dimly aware that the Prowler had used the opportunity to escape capture, but he was too busy clutching on to the side of the building and not spontaneously disintegrating. </p><p>Someone was helping him on to the roof, and when Peter finally felt well enough to open his eyes, he saw Blondie staring at him through the mask. The other interdimensional spider-people were also on the roof in various levels of <em> life sucks. </em> Gwen was standing with Miles’ assistance, and she shot a worried glance at Peter. She wasn’t the only one; Noir, Porker, and Peni, while not <em> peachy</em>, were already up and… concerned. About him.</p><p>Oh, great. Peter covered his eyes with his arm for just a moment. Looked like he was handling the glitches the worst out of all of them. With a groan, he stood up after making sure again that the others were okay. “Right. Now that that’s over, let’s get back to the…”</p><p>Peter trailed off as his spider-sense tugged at him, active but not insistent. He turned around to see <em> Prowler</em>, still standing there on the other building. Why hadn’t he ran away? The guy <em> had </em> to know he was no match for seven spider-people. They’d literally just proved that.</p><p>“Do not do this,” said the Prowler finally, voice distorted.</p><p>Everyone tensed, prepared to fight again.</p><p>“Uh, don’t do this?” Peter repeated. “We kinda <em> have </em> to, if you want New York to stay <em> New York </em> and not a disintegrated pile of modern art. Think about what just happened to me, and imagine that on a city level.” Trying to convince villains to not be villains had a low success rate, but when it came to city-wide disasters like these, some of the smaller-time ones that wanted to, uh, <em> live </em> could sometimes be brought around. Temporarily.</p><p>“Do not do this,” the Prowler said again, ignoring him completely. It was hard to tell with the mask, but he seemed to be looking at… Miles? </p><p>Noir raised his fists. “Enough gab!” Just as he prepared to launch himself to the other building, the Prowler turned tail and ran, heading away from the collider.</p><p>“Great.” Gwen sighed. “Now we gotta deal with Fisk knowing we’re coming. Prowler’s probably leaving to spill the beans.”</p><p>“Well,” Blondie rubbed his splint, “we just have to be faster, then. Come on. Let’s go into the tunnels. We can beat him there.”</p><p>Peter followed, but he couldn’t help but frown. Something didn’t feel right. If the Prowler wanted to regroup with Fisk, then why was he going the other direction? True, he could be trying to put enough distance to safely call his boss, but… he could have called it in at any time. The suits had to come with communicators; Fisk wasn’t <em> stupid</em>. Maybe Prowler was trying to distract or stall them, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just attack them again?</p><p>Something didn’t feel right about this, thought Peter. He just wasn’t sure what.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Miles had been in the same tunnels four days ago and the only thing he’d worried about was art and school. Now he was following the gang of interdimensional spider-heroes to save New York. But, funnily enough, Miles wasn’t thinking about stopping the reactor or even what would happen after this mess. Instead, he kept thinking about the Prowler, the villain that popped up—two times.</p><p>The villain had tried to grab him twice, and he’d succeeded once, and that had been kind of scary. But the Prowler hadn’t… <em> hurt </em>him. Even when the Prowler was running around with a grip on his jacket (maybe it’d be a good idea to ditch it), he hadn’t used his claws or electric things. </p><p>“Miles, you’re really alright?” Gwen said softly, coming up next to him as their footsteps echoed through the tunnels. Her mask was off, though her hood was still up, and she bit her lip as she glanced at him. Since this wasn’t her dimension, she didn’t have to be as careful.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m really okay.” He tried to give an encouraging smile before remembering about the mask, so he held up a goofy thumbs-up instead. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”</p><p>She grinned at him. “Don’t hurt yourself while trying.”</p><p>Miles rolled his eyes and elbowed her lightly. “Yeah, thanks.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I was just thinking about the Prowler. About how weird he was acting.”</p><p>Gwen’s smile faded. “Yeah, you’re right. The Prowler in my dimension would be more ruthless about it. He definitely wouldn’t run away like that.” She shifted back her shoulders in a way that immediately made her look scary and awesome. “But don’t worry, Miles. If he comes back, we’ll stop him.”</p><p>“Heck yeah.” He held out his fist, and Gwen bumped it without hesitation.</p><p>“They’re so cute I want to barf,” mumbled Doc, even making a gagging noise.</p><p>“You ruined the moment!” Blondie scolded, face-palming. “Let them have this!”</p><p>Porker lowered his camera—where did the camera <em> come </em>from?—and winked. “I got it for them.” </p><p>Miles felt his face growing warm, and he looked up at the ceiling, pretending like the decaying concrete was the most interesting thing in the world. Despite how <em> annoying </em> Dr. P and the others could be, it was… kinda nice. Like being with his friends again. He hadn’t gotten to hang out with them since joining Vision Academy, and no one liked him in that stuck-up place. Well, no one besides Gwen, who was leaving anyway. Miles glanced at her, and she looked exasperated but also sort of happy as she threatened to punch Dr. P. </p><p>He was going to miss this.</p><p>“Speaking of cameras…” Porker brightened. “We should take a group picture!” He interrupted the bickering with his proclamation, causing the others to pause as they took it in.</p><p>Miles was the first to break it. “We totally should,” he agreed. It’d be nice to have something to remember them by.</p><p>“Yeah!” said Peni, her robot bouncing up and down. “I have the longest arms, let me, let me—”</p><p>It was Doc’s turn to groan. “No, no, we are <em> not </em> stopping on our way to the final battle to take a <em> selfie </em>—”</p><p>The flash interrupted Doc’s complaint, and everyone gathered around Miles’ cellphone to see the image. Porker stood on top of Peni’s bot with a thumbsup, Blondie looked sheepish, Doc had his eyes half closed and mouth open, Noir posed in a dramatic silhouette with a hand on his hat, Miles held up a peace sign, and Gwen was grinning at the camera.</p><p>“I need to frame this on my wall,” Miles said, reverent. “On <em> every </em>wall.” That was the best photo he’d seen in his entire life. If he could use it as reference, he would absolutely spray paint the picture everywhere.</p><p>Doc sighed. “Alright, kids, funtime is over. Let’s get a move on before we disintegrate.”</p><p>That sobered them up a little bit. Miles felt the now-familiar tension grow in his stomach as he glanced at his new friends. It was easy to forget that they’d fall apart if they stayed too long in this dimension… and that they’d have to fight a criminal mastermind, evil scientist, and their posse to keep that from happening. The other spiders insisted that Miles didn’t have to join the battle, but in a way, just watching seemed worse.</p><p>The spiders continued down the bend. As the tunnel grew lighter, their whispering faded to silence, and Miles rotated his wrists, unaccustomed to the feeling of the web-shooters. He took in a deep breath, mentally running through the lyrics of half-a-dozen songs. <em> Something </em> told him that they were close.</p><p>The tunnel opened up, full of light bright enough to blind. Miles blinked and his vision adjusted, and there it was.</p><p>The collider. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks, of course, to my dearest, lovely beta-readers: GwendolynStacy, JustAnotherOutcast, iaso, fishbake, and Igornerd.</p><p>And thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments! I enjoy each one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. ayy, don't be a stranger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Blondie held out his hand and glared at his older counterpart. “Give me the goober, Doc.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed, letting his lenses contract to convey a sheepish ‘my bad.’ He didn’t actually regret trying, but there was no point in keeping the goober anymore, not when Blondie was here. Peter tossed the goober to him, and Blondie caught it, contracting </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> lenses in a way that screamed ‘I am so annoyed, but I won’t say anything in front of the kids.’ He smirked at his counterpart, all while his stomach curdled with yet another failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t have Blondie’s death on his conscience. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not when Blondie had so much to live for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen looked up sharply. Ah, she’d caught that, hadn’t she? Gwen had always been perceptive, and he wasn’t surprised that it carried over to other universes. Noir tilted his head—if the detective Nazi-puncher didn’t put together the pieces, then he was probably a bad detective—and even Porker and Peni seemed a little suspicious. And Miles had his arms crossed, imitating Blondie. Peter would eat his mask if the kid hadn’t been the one to free him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s not waste time,” said Peter quietly. “They probably know we’re coming thanks to Prowler.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blondie clutched the goober tighter and nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember, Miles. Stay here,” murmured Gwen, giving him a punch in the shoulder. “You’re lookout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Miles said, resigned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter didn’t have time to say any words of encouragement. The collider whirled on in a spray of LSD-inspired colors, and the universe </span>
  <em>
    <span>shuddered</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the fabric of reality shifting and scraping as the device sent ripples through the city. They all stuttered like a YouTube video with bad wifi, the glitch reminding them of their time limit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blondie crawled on the ceiling, the rest of them just behind. As he opened the panel—right on cue, of course—the villains had to make their melodramatic, blah-blah, “Fear me!” entrance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the spiders at once!” Doc Ock (who was apparently a woman, which was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wild... </span>
  </em>
  <span>he really had to examine his biases) cackled as she wiggled through the grate. “You’re too late. Come to me, my pretties!” She swung one arm at Blondie and another at Gwen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> just quote </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Witch of Oz </span>
  </em>
  <span>at me,” said Blondie, sighing. He jumped away, avoiding one of her arms but getting caught on the backswing. “Of course she did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The witch? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Huh. Okay, moving on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re not doing so well, Spider-Man. I’m assuming you’re our original?” Doc Ock crooned as Blondie landed on a girder, clutching at his ribs, his chest heaving. “It would be my pleasure to </span>
  <em>
    <span>end you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed, webbed the panel she was about to throw at Blondie’s face, and flung it right back at her. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>thonked</span>
  </em>
  <span> her on the head, and Gwen took advantage of Octavius’ distraction to flip into action, twisting in—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twisting in the same move he’d shown her, kicking Doc Ock right in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Atta girl!” Peter hollered. “That was fantastic, you decelerated just like I told you! I’m proud of you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Wait a minute… that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a dad thing to say. Oh, no.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>move?” Blondie mumbled from the back, sounding a little confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen flashed them both a thumbs up before getting right into it with Octavius again, using her agility to dodge every attack—and not overextending this time. She was such a fast learner; Peter only had to tell her once and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no!</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She backflipped and landed next to him. “That was awesome!” she said, breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> awesome!” Peter grinned so widely that his cheeks were starting to hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen laughed, bending backwards to avoid a stray chunk of unidentified metal that Peter simply stepped out of the way from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did anyone tell you how lame you are?” said Gwen, webbing Ock’s face, distracting her just long enough for Peter to land an uppercut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and Miles. Repeatedly.” Peter sighed. “You guys make me rethink wanting kids.” His brain caught up with his words. “Wait. Do I want kids? Why would I want kids!? Why would I even </span>
  <em>
    <span>say </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t panic too long, though. At least, not for that reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The collider shuddered, and the fabric of reality </span>
  <em>
    <span>tore</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Shit. This was bad. The dimensions were colliding, spewing out matter like a candy-stuffed kindergartner on a rollercoaster. It was pretty, he had to admit, but equally terrifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter flipped out of the way of Ock’s arm, only to glitch and mistime the landing. The claw grabbed him and smashed him against a flying taxi, knocking the breath out of him. And maybe a few bones were knocked loose too, but that was normal at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That can’t be,” said Octavius, her eyes widening. “But… his cells were stable. His cells were </span>
  <em>
    <span>stable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but your—that could only happen if my calculations… No!” she shrieked. “This can’t be right!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter wanted to snark, but he was too busy trying to breathe—and keep his atoms from scattering into dust.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles hated watching. Seeing the crazy weird colors of the collider was kinda amazing, and all the spider-people were </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible</span>
  </em>
  <span>—but he couldn’t focus on that, not when his friends were in danger. Miles winced with each hit the villains landed. Agh, this was the worst!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand touched his shoulder, and Miles leaped out of his skin. He jumped back to see the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Prowler,</span>
  </em>
  <span> who was… looking around wildly. Oh, did he turn invisible again? Awesome, at least it still worked! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the Prowler stiffened and looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>right at him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aw man, did he have heat vision? So unfair! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles started running, remembering at the last second to use his webs, but the Prowler grabbed his foot and pulled him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help!” screamed Miles. “It’s the Prowler! He’s he—</span>
  <em>
    <span>mph!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The Prowler slapped a hand over his mouth. “Miles! Quiet!” he said in a deep, synthesized voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles froze, but only for a moment. The Prowler knew who he was? How!? Then he started struggling, even more frantically than before, his shouting muffled by the hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The Prowler turned Miles around, pulled back his own hood, and took off his mask. “You gotta get out of here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Aaron,” whispered Miles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It couldn’t be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. His uncle couldn’t be the Prowler. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Prowler… Uncle </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aaron</span>
  </em>
  <span> had put on his mask and was still talking, but Miles wasn’t paying attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tried to kill me!” he blurted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t! I was only trying to stop you! You told me you knew all the spider-people, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>to put it together when a new Spider-Man showed up with a graffiti pattern on his suit! Since when could you turn invisible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when were you the Prowler!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uncle Aaron winced. “Miles, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yes you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> try to kill me! During the first collider fight, you chased after me and Spider-Man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… that was you? I didn’t know that was you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Miles glared and backed away. “So you’d’ve killed them if it wasn’t me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miles...” Uncle Aaron reached out to him but stopped when Miles pointed his webslingers at him. “Look, we can talk about this later. This is dangerous. Go back through the tunnels and I’ll—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were the one who got me into this!” Miles knew he was talking without thinking, but he was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His uncle was a villain, his friends were risking their lives to save New York, and the person he’d looked up to was trying to convince Miles to run away? “I only got bit by the spider because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> took me under the tunnels!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles stiffened his shoulders, and resolve flowed through him. “I’m not gonna run away. I’m not gonna just watch! Unlike you, I’m going to do the right thing.” He raised his hand, and though Uncle Aaron lunged at him, he was too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles jumped and swung straight into the fight.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter thought he was going to be a goner. Spots were flashing in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but bring up his long list of regrets. Uncle Ben, Aunt May, Gwen… at the top, though, was M.J. He’d been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d pushed away the one person who meant more to him than anyone in the world… and now he wouldn’t be able to fix it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to summon the breath to say some snarky last words, but a blur of black and red slammed into the arm choking him, and a surge of electricity coursed through Doc Ock—and him. The arm dropped him before he could get shocked too badly though, and Peter let out an undignified “Gahgh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry!” said Miles, the wonderful, stupid kid who’d flung himself into the battle with no experience at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet—he was doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was doing great! Electricity crackled around his hands, and Octavius kept her distance, eyeing the electricity warily even as she raised her arms to attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Miles! Also, what are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You were supposed to be the lookout!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look out,” said Miles in a complete deadpan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, very funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there came Blondie, right on cue. “Miles! I’ll get you out of here!” said his younger counterpart, webbing a truck to fling at Ock. She simply crawled over it with her arms, giving them all a maniacal sneer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, supervillains and their maniacal sneers. Name a more iconic duo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter eyed the way that Blondie was almost hunched over. Alright, maybe “Spider-Man and fighting through massive injuries” was just as iconic, if not moreso. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though Miles was inexperienced and Blondie should probably be in a hospital, the combined efforts of the three was enough to push her on the backfoot. Claw. Arm tentacle. Whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was when Kingpin, Tombstone, the Scorpion and Green Goblin </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to enter the fray—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Since when did the Scorpion have mechanical spider legs!? And was the Goblin a giant mutant with wings? He could breathe </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was too busy disapproving of yet another curveball in this soggy fry of a dimension and only caught the tail end of Kingpin’s drawn out speech (he’d rate it a C+ for effort, a D- for originality). Peter rolled his eyes, stifled a yawn, and catapulted himself right at the Kingpin’s head—knocking Blondie off his trajectory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blondie squawked, flailed, and landed on the ceiling again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what to do!” shouted Peter. “I’ll keep him busy for now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But M—the kid—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me,” said Miles, swinging by. “I got this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He absently shot a web at Kingpin and eyed the rest of the spiders. Gwen was fighting Ock, with assistance from Peni, while Tombstone and the Green Goblin were having a helluva time against Noir and Porker. Blondie acted as long distance support for the rest, shooting webs and directing projectiles as he made his way to the goober compartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand—” snarled Kingpin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Peter cut him off. “I know the story. I don’t really care. I’m not going to convince you, you’re not going to convince me.” Peter tilted to the side, avoiding a bullet. “You tried this in my dimension. You lost. You’re going to lose again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How dare you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch that. Peter was giving him an F for originality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Octavius was smashed by a building, and they both had to pause and wince sympathetically. Kingpin’s eyes narrowed as he took stock off all the spider-people and realized that one was missing: </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> dimension’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blondie waved, stuck the goober in, and the collider </span>
  <em>
    <span>changed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fun talk,” said Peter, and then he kicked Kingpin in the face, webbed him to the wall, and slung away.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter saw Doc (Peter, not Ock), Gwen, Miles, and the rest of the gang join him above the portal. Kingpin’s henchmen (and woman) were all taken care of, leaving only the boss himself. The spider-people would all go home and be safe in their own dimension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peni gave them all a hug, climbed back in her mechsuit, and jumped in. “I’ll call you!” she shouted. “And be careful with that toaster, it’s not finished!” She waved, her suit giving one last cheery smile before they disappeared through the portal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These crayons are mine,” said Noir solemnly, before he tipped his hat and tipped backwards into his own dimension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Porker blubbered all over them, pulled out a pie from somewhere, and jumped through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter smiled. He was going to miss them. He hadn’t realized how… </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d felt, how hard it was to do this with no one to talk to, no one who </span>
  <em>
    <span>understood</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next was Gwen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wound from her death had scabbed, but it hadn’t really healed. But knowing there was a Gwen out there—blonde instead of brunette, sixteen instead of twenty-six—eased the pain, just a little bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Miles,” she said, pulling her mask off. “Looks like you got your powers down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, more or less.” He shrugged. “Maybe one day I’ll be as good at Spider-Heroing as you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doc scoffed. “And what are we, chopped liver?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen gave him a sly grin. “You’re okay, I guess. Maybe a little cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a huge, dramatic sigh, Doc crossed his arms. “That’s the best I can get, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I can live with that.” Doc crouched a little, meeting her eyes with an easy grin. “You be careful out there, kid. And remember what I said about overextending. That applies to our regular lives too, you hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes, but she kept smiling. “You’re so old and sentimental, Doc.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wise. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So you better listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>”Whatever you say,” said Gwen with a snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the spirit!” He reached out and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder, and Gwen rolled her eyes for the second time before giving Doc a quick hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Gwen turned to Peter, and he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>the way she closed off, her shoulders hunching in as she stood on one leg. Hesitation radiated off her, and Peter wasn’t sure what to say. Neither did she, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay safe,” Gwen said finally. “And… I’m sorry for—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been there,” he said, smiling softly. She couldn’t see it, but he hoped she heard it in his voice. “And… you stay safe too, alright?” Peter stepped closer, holding out his hand for a high-five, or handshake, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Gwen hugged him too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said in his ear. “I’m so, so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Peter told her what she wanted to hear but wouldn’t believe. “It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen pulled back and nodded, and the resignation on her face—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter took a deep breath and a risk. “Keep punching,” he said, bringing back that dumb inside joke like he’d never stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes became misty, and they all pretended not to notice. “Keep kicking, Pete.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gwen held out a fist for Miles, who gladly bumped it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends?” said the other kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She jumped through the portal, and Miles called out, “Send me your music!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter laughed, and though his ribs were definitely broken, he felt ten times lighter. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter didn’t want to leave Blondie and Miles injured in a collapsing reactor. If something happened to them and he wasn’t there—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doc,” said Blondie gently, using the same tone they did when trying to rescue uncooperative cats or panicked kids, “you’re up next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter let out a huff, annoyed that it was working even though he knew what it was. “Remember what I told you, Blondie. With MJ—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell her more,” he promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And don’t push yourself too hard. You gotta take breaks and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” said Blondie, interrupting him </span>
  <em>
    <span>again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably the best Peter could get from him. So he turned to the youngest spider. “And Miles, make sure to get the trick with baby powder from Blondie. Squeeze out any bit of information you can from him, and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles laughed. “Okay, okay, I got it. But Doc, you gotta go through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter stepped to the edge and hesitated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was he really going back to? He thought of the clarity he had when Octavius was choking him, when he thought it was his last breath—when everything seemed so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fix.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Doc,” said Blondie. “Peter. Take care of yourself too, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was about to step off, but Blondie grabbed him by the shoulder. “You know… it wouldn’t be so bad to turn out like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes widened. “Blondie—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he pushed him, and Peter was falling through a swirl of colors as red as MJ’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s for tying me to a chair, you jerk!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter grinned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, they’d be alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe he would be too.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles sighed as Doc went through the portal. They were all safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, kid,” said Blondie—well, just Peter now. He was the only Spider-Man left in this dimension. (Besides Miles. Wait, was Miles a Spider-Man too? Or maybe he should pick a different name: Gwen had called him Arachnid, and that sounded pretty cool.) “Go back to being lookout. I’ll clean up the rest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter punched a button. He grabbed Miles and swung to slightly a more stable platform as the reactor shut off, colors fading back into reality. The fabric of the universe rippled and reknit, the scattered extra-dimensional objects getting sucked back through the portal as everything powered down…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only to start again with a flash of eerie blue light as a fist struck the panel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be that easy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kingpin loomed, webbing stuck to his suit, gun in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll crush you,” said the man, snarling. “And then I’ll crush your little sidekick.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t good. Peter webbed the gun from his hands and tossed it away, but even that simple movement caused his ribs jab into his lung. “Get out of here, kid,” he wheezed, but that seemed to make Miles </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> determined to stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kingpin was in front of him before he could blink, and his fist caught the side of Peter’s face. The force flung Peter backwards, right into a train. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collapsed into a heap on the glass building that appeared right under him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His ribs were killing him, his head was ringing, but he couldn’t give up. Not when Miles was here. Peter tried to get up. His leg was broken in more than one place, the splint beyond useless now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Kingpin was approaching him. If he didn’t stop Kingpin, he’d go after Miles next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles landed in front of him, shoulders squared as he stood between Peter and the Kingpin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t let you hurt him,” said Miles, voice high and steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God. He looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter attempted to raise himself up on his arms. He couldn’t stop Kingpin like this. Maybe if Peter distracted him, Miles could run—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Prowler appeared behind Kingpin, and his hopes sank. There was no chance now. But he still had to try. Peter struggled to his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Kingpin barely gave his associate a glance. “About time. Make sure that neither of them escape. I’ll handle this myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Prowler stepped forward and slashed the Kingpin with his claws.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles watched with wide eyes as blood dripped from Kingpin’s arm. The man had raised it just in time to protect his face. Kingpin didn’t stop to question the Prowler—Miles’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>uncle</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s—betrayal. Instead, he lurched forward with his fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should be illegal for someone that big to be so fast!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles took a deep breath and turned invisible—the sensation sudden and icy like falling into a snowbank. While his uncle just managed to fight off Kingpin, jumping off taxis, hopping off a hotdog stand, Miles used the webs to gain momentum and punch Kingpin in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kingpin screamed. “Where are you!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned himself visible, right in front of Kingpin. “Here!” Miles flashed back into invisibility just as Kingpin tried to grab him, jumping behind a wardrobe, just in time for his uncle to leap forward and slice Kingpin again with his claws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now I’m here!” said Miles, behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kingpin turned, but this time, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>grab him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it for this kid, Prowler, that you decided to change sides?” Kingpin reached out with his other hand towards Miles’ mask as reality collapsed around them. “Why don’t we see who he is—and don’t try coming closer, or I’ll squeeze him and take it off his dead body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” gasped Peter, </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying to get up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle’s claws flexed, every inch of his body tight with tension and fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles smiled. “Surprise,” he wheezed, and electricity </span>
  <em>
    <span>crackled.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kingpin let go. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he fell down with an earthshaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Whoops, it's Wednesday. Time is an illusion.)</p><p>An actual fight scene, finally, lol. The first and last. Thanks to my lovely beta-readers (GwendolynStacy, iaso, fishbake, igornerd, JustAnotherOutcast) and to you, my lovely readers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. i'm not scared of the fall [coda]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter clung to the girder with his remaining strength. “The panel,” he wheezed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.” Miles webbed off what looked like the Eiffel tower and caught the controls. Still flipping in the modified gravity, he pushed the button and reality </span>
  <em>
    <span>shifted</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. Buildings folded in on themselves, twisting and collapsing back into their home dimensions as the reactor swallowed them greedily. Assorted objects lost their technicolor edge and faded away, just as gravity reasserted itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s arms were screaming. He began to slide downwards as his battered body decided now was the time to give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang tight!” said Miles, swinging towards him. “I’m coming—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The collider exploded, throwing Miles back. Peter couldn’t hold on anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So this was the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes. At least the last thing he texted MJ was “I love you.” That, and a bunch of heart emojis. It was a poor excuse for last words, but MJ knew what it meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped Miles would be okay. Peter had so much he wanted to teach the kid, but now Miles would have to figure it out alone. He could do it, Peter knew that, but Miles shouldn’t have to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter opened his eyes and let out a sound like a dying cat when a purple blur slammed into him. He was pretty sure he lost consciousness for a little bit, because when he opened his eyes, Peter was on top of a pile of rubble… and the Prowler was holding him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scratch that. Maybe he was hallucinating, or maybe Hell was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>really, really </span>
  </em>
  <span>weird. Because no version of Heaven included one of his enemies cradling him like a baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles climbed up the pile, and Peter sagged with relief—before he remembered that he was sagging against </span>
  <em>
    <span>the Prowler</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and promptly tensed up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirens blared. The Prowler (The Prowler! What was going </span>
  <em>
    <span>on?</span>
  </em>
  <span>) carried him down and gently set him on the floor, artfully arranging him to lean against a fire hydrant. The Prowler hesitated. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” said Peter, before realizing that the Prowler was talking to Miles. Peter tried to summon protective indignation at the thought of a villain taking interest in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> protege, excuse him, but the best he could manage was strained confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Miles gave the Prowler a fist bump. “Thanks, Uncle Aaron. You didn’t have to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I did have to. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait. Uncle!?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles ducked his head. “And… sorry for the—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got nothing to be sorry for. You were right, Miles. I’m the one who should apologize.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Prowler (Miles’ uncle? What in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world!?</span>
  </em>
  <span>) clasped his nephew’s (What!) shoulder. Then, the Prowler turned to Peter and gave him the upwards head-nod—which Peter weakly returned, still in the throes of massive confusion. Just as the first police car returned, the Prowler disappeared into the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pile of rubble shifted, and Fisk groaned from underneath it. Ah. So there he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid, could you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Miles, with a little trial and error, cocooned Fisk. The Kingpin tried to express his displeasure but only succeeded in wiggling a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The police cars parked in front of them, and several officers stepped out. Peter really hoped they took care of Fisk quickly, because he was about five minutes from passing out again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spider-Man!” said one, and Peter groaned. Why did the multiverse do this to him? “And… tiny Spider-Man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Officer Davis,” he mumbled, just as Miles froze. “Here’s the Kingpin.” He limply raised an arm, only to immediately regret it. Right. He’d broken that. And like… everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do to yourself this time!?” Davis put his hands on his hips and leaned over Peter while his fellow officers actually took care of the villain. “You’re a mess! What happened to staying off that leg, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mph,” said Peter, lacking the energy to properly defend himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Davis turned his glare to Miles—without knowing it was actually his son, but with furious dad energy radiating nonetheless. “And you, Mr. Copycat, look a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be involved in this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all, Mr. Officer,” Miles mumbled, putting on perhaps the worst fake adult voice known to man… and immediately confirming he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a kid. “I just came to, uh… watch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, since you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>came to watch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, maybe you should skedaddle home, hmm? I’ll take care of Spider-Man here, and don’t even think of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, bye!” Miles </span>
  <em>
    <span>thwip-</span>
  </em>
  <span>ped away without a backward glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Peter’s heart throbbed at the betrayal. Or maybe that was his rib cage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” Davis scratched his head. “I thought he’d put up more of a fight. I guess he knows what’s good for him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine!” Peter protested. “Just let me go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not on your life. Which, at this point, looks to be in danger. From your own stupidity.” And despite Peter’s increasing objections, Davis picked him up like a sack of </span>
  <em>
    <span>potatoes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, bundled him into the police car, and drove off. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles practically flew through his window, changed out of his costume as fast as he could, and flopped on the bed, his heart pounding. Barely five minutes after that, his dad kicked open the door with… Peter in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where have you been?” said his dad, scowling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There went his hopes of his parents not realizing he was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can walk!” grumbled Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quiet, delinquent.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha—you’re ten years too late to call me a </span>
  <em>
    <span>delinquent</span>
  </em>
  <span>, officer!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you did start Spider-Manning in high school!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, not in high school anymore!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles wisely kept his mouth shut, but it was futile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Miles.” His dad glared. “Where have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well…” said Miles slowly. “You're asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>that question when you're carrying Spider-Man? He looks like he’s gonna pass out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point,” muttered his dad. “Fine. Let’s get this irresponsible vigilante settled, and then we can talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles hid a grin and pretended not to notice Peter’s glare. Man, it was so great when his dad’s dadding was directed at someone other than him.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter’s day of indignity still wasn’t over. He thought Officer Davis would be the worst part, but it turned out he was nothing compared to Mrs. Morales. The ER nurse had stormed into the apartment, still in her uniform, carrying a bag full of medical equipment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Irresponsible is a weak word to describe you!” she scolded as she bandaged his injuries. “Careless! </span>
  <em>
    <span>¡Tonto!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>As she took stock of his broken leg… and arm… and ribs… and possible concussion, her stream of Spanish grew louder and faster until she ended with an emphatic “¡Coño!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles gasped and covered his mouth, clearly enjoying Peter’s misery. (Yeah. Laugh it up. Peter knew that Miles was next for a lecture.) His dad was right next to him, looking equally smug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. Morales, I—Ow!” Peter hissed as she attacked a scrape with antiseptic. “Look, thank you for this, but I also need to make a call.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To whom?” said Davis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter hesitated. He didn’t have his mask on—Miles’ mom had yanked it off after seeing the blood that had soaked through it. And Miles knew who he was, and at this point, Davis had enough information to figure out his identity anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My wife,” he said finally. “I should get back to her. She must be worried sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re married!?” said both Davis and Miles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. Had Miles not met MJ?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Invite her for breakfast,” snapped Mrs. Morales. “You’re not moving!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter groaned, just as Miles burst out laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And no hot chocolate for you either!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That made him wince. Her hot chocolate had been the best thing he’d consumed in weeks. Peter gave a mournful sigh, looking down with what MJ called his “unfairly sad kicked puppy eyes.” Mrs. Morales didn’t say anything for a few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Maybe a little hot chocolate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Suddenly, all this humiliation didn’t seem so bad after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miles sat on the floor, leaning against the couch on which Peter was sprawled out. His parents were in the kitchen—his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mamá</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying to make hot chocolate, his dad trying to steal it—so he could finally talk to Peter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” said Miles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter finished using his dinosaur phone and tucked it away. “So,” echoed Peter back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll live. How about you, kid?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles shrugged. “I feel great, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if he was being honest, he didn’t really feel much of anything right now. It was still all a blur—the fight, his uncle being the Prowler, almost dying (more than once), his friends almost dying… but they were all okay now! So, no problem!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you.” It didn’t sound like a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah?” But his answer did, and Miles winced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was quiet for so long that Miles wondered if he’d just passed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should tell your parents,” said Peter finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Miles didn’t yell, but it was a pretty powerful whisper-shout. “Are you crazy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hear me out, Miles.” Peter adjusted his position and winced. “I hid it from Aunt May for a long time. And honestly, it was really stressful. And dumb. After I told her, it was… so much easier. So, so much easier, you won’t even believe how much easier it made things. And I don’t want you to lie to your parents—you’re just a kid, man! Just a kid! It’s not your problem to worry about these kind of things. I mean, you were great out there, but—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, okay!” Miles interrupted, trying not to smile. Peter was totally babbling now. That concussion his mom had yelled about was pretty obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles’ not-a-smile faded as he thought about what Peter said. He did kinda have a point. It’d only been a few days—woah, it felt like way longer than that—and he already felt awful about lying to his parents. Remembering his dad’s disappointed expression… ouch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Peter said it was okay to tell him...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ll do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll do it,” said Miles. “Maybe not now—it's probably better to get you in a safe distance first. Wouldn’t want my dad to murder you after doing all this work to save your life."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter started laughing and then immediately curled over. “Ow, my ribs! I keep forgetting about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles noticed that Peter was struggling to keep his eyes open. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>mamá</span>
  </em>
  <span> had already given the all-clear about the head wound, so Miles wasn’t afraid to give some encouragement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Go sleep.” After a little bit of searching, Miles nudged an uninjured part of his shoulder. “You're safe now. They're home, Fisk is captured, you already texted your wife and aunt, so… we did it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter hesitated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, you can rest now.” Miles grinned. "Don't worry, man. I got this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Peter grinned back and closed his eyes. "Yeah. You do." </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And, that's a wrap. Thus concludes my love-letter to this wonderful movie. I hope you all enjoyed this romp as much as I enjoyed writing it!</p><p>Much thanks to my lovely beta-readers: GwendolynStacy, iaso, Igornerd, fishbake, and JustAnotherOutcast. They're all incredible. And a deep, deep thank you to all you readers! Your comments and kudos and bookmarks always make me smile. I appreciate you all joining me on this friendly neighborhood journey.</p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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